Dark Awakening
by TheGiantRock
Summary: Alright, I get to star in a Fire Emblem SI. Stats? Check! Skills? Check! Inventory? Che- wait, "Estus Flask"? … Oh, shit. FE13 x Dark Souls Crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm looking for something to write that won't take much thinking, and a quick SI fits the bill. I'll caution you not to expect quality or logical consistency.**

 **SIs and FE go well together, but I know I'd die in a medieval world. This character may be very,** _ **very**_ **loosely based on me, in terms of background history and game knowledge.**

 **I'll almost completely use the FE world and story, with some minor Dark Souls mechanics thrown in to screw with our hero, because why not?**

* * *

Most Fire Emblem SIs get to start near Southtown, or somewhere else near the plot. I have no such luck.

"4 _months_?" I ask incredulously.

The fisherman shrugs. "Ain't many people needin' to go up to Ylisse this time of year, pal. Sorry, but them's the breaks." He peers at me suspiciously. "Whaddya need to get to Ylisse for anyway, eh?"

I try my best to put on a lost expression. It's not very hard to do.

"Honestly, I don't got many other places to go," I say, not quite imitating his expression but at least making sure I don't speak using perfect grammar. "My ma used to tell me that I had family back at the Farfort in Ylisse."

I stop myself from adding to my made-up backstory. The man looks at me dubiously anyway. "They dress like that in Ylisse?" he asks, changing tacks.

That's not a bad question. I glance down at my jeans and plain white shirt. "Nah, doubt it. These clothes used to belong to my pa. Never really knew him, but I guess he was around my size."

The man looks skeptical. Rightly so, considering I'm lying through my teeth. "Ain't my business, but I'm pretty sure it'd be faster to take a boat to Plegia, and then go to Ylisse by land," he says. "Unless you got a reason for wanting to stay outta Plegia…"

His voice trails off. That's a bit of a loaded question.

"Well, I heard rumors of trouble at the borders, especially on Ylisse's side," I confide, not answering him directly. "Bandits go in packs everywhere there, so I hear."

"Bandits," the man spits, momentarily forgetting his suspicion of me. "Yeah, all over the mainland. Don't get 'em here, but then again I guess we've got-" the man cuts off and looks around. He lowers his voice. "Well, never you mind that. I've got work to do. Best o' luck, pal."

He picks up a pair of empty buckets at his feet and walks off, turning his head to give me a last look. Damn. He seemed like the friendliest man on the pier, and while I learned a bit from him, I can't help but feel I wasted a good conversation. Maybe I should've practiced speaking to someone else.

There's not too much bustle here despite it being high noon. Perhaps it's because of where I am: the Sea-King's Throne. As in the post-endgame paralogue where you find Gangrel. Seriously, that's my starting location. I was lucky enough to see a map a while back. I remember the world map from the game, so I could put two-and-two together.

I glance around the pier. I honestly don't feel comfortable approaching any of the other men. They don't really strike me as the lawful, good-Samaritan sort. For lack of anything better to do, I look around the island, trying to pretend I know where I'm going. No one really stops me, though I get a few odd glances. I'm pretty sure it's because of my clothes, but I'll be damned if I have any gold in my jeans pocket to pay for local clothing.

The panic starts to set in a few hours later. I've got no idea what I'm doing and I don't have any money or food. I find a nice, secluded area obscured by rocks and sit down. It takes a lot of willpower not to rock back and forth on the sand.

 _Okay, fuck. Okay, fuck. Okay. Fuck._

This isn't a very productive train of thought, but I can't seem to stop. Swearing is a pretty good placeholder when you don't know what to think.

 _Fuck, okay. Pull it together._

I close my eyes and try to concentrate, and that's when stuff gets real. You see, when I close my eyes, I'd expect to see nothing but blackness. Instead, I'm treated to a nice portrait of myself, complete with a name I'm pretty sure isn't my own and some stats.

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 1. EXP: 0.  
HP: 17/17

What the hell?! I have a stats screen? I have a stats screen!

"Oi, what was that?"

The screen disappears as my head jerks up and my eyes open. Whoops, I'm pretty sure I let out some kind of shout.

"Sorry," I call out distantly. I'm sitting on sand with my back to some rocks as I face open waters. There's no one in my immediate line of sight. "Tripped on something."

I don't hear a direct reply, but no one comes investigating, so I put the thought aside. I close my eyes and try to concentrate again, feeling a surge of excitement. Lo and behold, my character page! I shift my mind's eye to look more directly at my name, and I'm rewarded with a small pop-up bubble. It's just like the game.

 **Ess'ai** : _A special little snowflake, far from home_.

I let out a small chuckle before examining my class description.

 **Outrealmer** : _A wanderer from another world. Weak, but resilient._

I'm filled with a nervous energy now, but I don't think I could stop myself from looking at my actual stats even if I wanted to. With a thought, they manifest before my closed eyes.

Str: 3  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 2  
Spd: 6  
Lck: 2  
Def: 8  
Res: 7

Mov: 5

That's… definitely not bad, actually! I mean, sure, I can't fight too well, but at level 1, that's some great survivability.

Tension that I didn't even realize I was carrying on my shoulders slowly melts away. This… I can work with this. I might be in a brand new world, but this is something I'm familiar with: stats and RPG mechanics. The more I think about it, the more I'm satisfied with the stat distribution. I mean, I might not even end up doing anything in this world, anyway. What do I need strength for?

I take a second to actually think, to let it sink in. I'm in another world. Incidentally, I don't know how I got here. I literally woke up on this island.

I've read self-inserts. I wonder idly if I'm actually in one. Is someone out there writing about me, back on planet Earth? Is this whole world around me someone's imagination? In that case, can I expect this world to follow certain narrative patterns?

More than that, I'm pretty sure entering another world counts as breaking the laws of reality. Could this be used as proof that a God exists? Not Naga or Grima, but something that a human of planet Earth would consider God?

I shake my head. I'm sure I can come to a bottom-line later, but now isn't a good time for philosophy. My priority is to figure out my immediate goals and, if possible, my long-term plans. My immediate goal will probably be to stay alive. My long-term plans…

Well, I'm in the world of Awakening. I suppose the obvious answer is to help the Shepherds save the world, right? Then again, I probably don't want to cause any ripples. The default story of Awakening ends up with Grima being defeated, after all. Sure, a whole bunch of innocent people die in the crossfires of war, but there's a much worse alternative of Grima actually winning. Assuming I'm in the 2nd timeline with the amnesiac Robin, of course.

And that's also assuming that I'm not supposed to be some sort of Robin-substitute. I doubt it, all things considered. I'm smart, but I doubt I'd be able to pose as a true tactician. Plus, neither of my hands sport the Mark of Grima.

Hm. I suppose my first long-term goal is just to gather information about what timeline I'm in. And for that, I suspect I'd need to go to Ylisse. I'll need to think the matter over.

I close my eyes and call up my stat screen again. Even the idea of being a character with stats makes me grin. Right, what else is there? Ah, weapons. I see bow and staff symbols, both E rank. Hell yes! I have literally 0 magic, but even access to staves is way more than I would've asked for. And a ranged weapon is totally my style. Hit-and-run, baby!

Something unusual happens when I try to focus in on my skills section: I get a tutorial message. It's literally a written message that I can see in my mind.

 **Tutorial: Outrealmer Skills**

 _The Outrealmer class will grant you access to unique skills, both upon reaching certain levels and upon clearing certain events. You may have up to 7 Outrealm skills equipped at any time._

 _You cannot switch to any class other than Outrealmer._

There's a flashing "continue?" button at the end of the message.

"Uh, continue?" I say aloud, eyes still closed. Nothing happens. _Continue_ , I think, and the message is erased and replaced by another block of text.

 **Tutorial: Penalty Skills**

 _Some Outrealm skills come attached with "Penalty Skills." Penalties are largely permanent. Un-equipping an Outrealm skill will not remove its corresponding penalty. There is no limit to the number of penalties you can be assigned, so choose your skills wisely._

Well, this is different. There's a flashing "Close" button at the end of the message. _Close_ , I think, and the message disappears.

I take a second to re-evaluate my character page. It looks similar to the usual character page, but in the bottom-right corner, there really are two sections for skills.

I focus in on my skills section. There's 6 circular slots for potential skills, forming a hexagon around a 7th slot that's already occupied. I see an image of a man standing under a sun. With some trepidation, I concentrate on the icon, and a pop-up bubble appears.

 **Native** : _Allows you to speak the languages of new realms. You may wander new realms without falling prey to immediate sickness._

… I feel a surge of thankfulness to whatever God that's transported me to this world. Honestly, I didn't even think about that. Consuming water or food in a foreign world would probably give me traveller's diarrhea, at the very least. And for language, have I been speaking English this whole time? I didn't even second-guess the fact that I was able to speak with the fisherman before.

Better yet, everyone in Awakening canon is able to speak to one another without translators. It stands to reason that I'd be able to get by in Plegia, Ylisse, or even Valm! I stand up, energized, and allow myself a subtle fist-pump. It takes a lot of restraint to stop myself from cheering. That's a lot of mileage out of 1 skill. Gary Stu-dom, here I come!

Ah, but it's best not to get too excited. Below my Outrealm skills section is my Penalties section. There's only 1 icon present, a fiery orange circle among a background of black. Curious, I focus on it.

My mind freezes.

 **Darksign** : _Signifies an accursed undead. Those branded with it may be reborn after death, but are doomed to one day lose their mind and become true Risen_.

No… there's got to be some kind of mistake. I'm in Fire Emblem, not Dark Souls.

The hope that had been steadily building in me wavers like a candle in a tempest. My eyes open involuntarily. The world around me hasn't changed, but everything feels a little colder.

I delve back into my stats screen, but the Darksign is still there. I look at my inventory, hoping for some more information. There are 2 items there.

 **Kara** : _A steel bracelet. No effect, but offers memories of a past life. Your starting gift._

 **Estus Flask** _ **5/5**_ : _A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest._

Well… shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : **The random skill description in this chapter is a mimicry of the Dark Souls loading screen, which I might bring up again whenever the character falls asleep or unconscious.**

 **I created a library of Outrealm skills & penalties that pull from legends of different worlds, but the character won't get all (or even most) of them. In some cases, the assigned penalty might even outweigh the skill, because Dark Souls factor.**

* * *

A good 10 minutes pass in which I don't do anything productive. It's OK. I think I need the processing time for the sake of my mental health. I breathe in and out slowly, enjoying the scent of salty air.

I'm destined to become a Risen. That's… unfortunate. I'm trying to recall the lore from the Souls series, but it's been a while since I played, and the plot was always difficult to understand.

Alright, what do I know? I probably have the Darksign brand on my body somewhere, and if I do I'll need to hide it. I don't know if the Darksign actually means anything to anyone here, but there's no point in taking risks.

The Darksign is from the first Dark Souls game. Besides marking those destined to Hollow, it acts as a usable item. Well, it's mostly useless since all it does is kill you upon activation, but still. For me, it seems to have manifested as a penalty skill instead of an item. I wonder if I can actually activate it as a skill, then decide that I really don't want to investigate.

Upon deeper reflection, the Darksign might be more of a blessing than a curse. I mean, becoming a Risen after death is better than outright ceasing to exist. I don't know if I'll instantly hollow and lose my sanity, though, so it's an unreliable safety net that I'm going to avoid testing, if possible.

The real question is how this affects the world at large. If the Darksign is something personal to me, then I'm not worried. If it appears on other people, though, that means this entire world is cursed.

… I really hope there's no Kiln of the First Flame in Ylisse. If I have to sacrifice my soul to temporarily stall the Undead curse on this world, I'm going to demand a refund on this whole SI business.

This cements it, though. I need more information. I need to find out what time it is, what time _line_ I'm in, and then whether or not other people have Darksigns and how it impacts the world. I can't do that effectively by standing around here in the middle of some backwater island.

First-things-first, though. I close my eyes to check my character page for any extraneous information. If there's any other tutorial messages or twists, I want to get them out of the way now.

There's a "Full" button on the top-right of my page. Examining it changes the layout of my character information, and provides a little bit more information. My overall rating is 28. Not even Level 1 Shepherd-worthy, but not too far behind, either. Other than that, nothing new.

It's only a bit past noon, so I have plenty of daylight hours to use. I'm already getting a little hungry, but without gold, I'm not sure what I can do.

I frown and check my inventory. If my Estus flasks are renewable… perhaps I should try experimenting and using it now that it's safe, instead of in the heat of battle. If I get lucky, it might even keep me from starving.

I nod firmly and focus my mind on the item. Is there a particular way to use items? I was able to navigate tutorial messages by vocalizing mental commands like "Continue" and "Close", so while my eyes are closed I try that.

 _Activate. Activate_ _Estus Flask_.

No luck. I can see my character page and stats screen, along with my inventory, but nothing is changing. What was the command to use items in Dark Souls, again?

… Oh, right. I'm an idiot. I focus on my Estus Flask again until its description pops up, then:

 _Use item_.

My right hand is suddenly moving, gripping a glowing orange flask that wasn't there before, and my body moves to take a sip. It's… surprisingly plain. Like cool, lightly flavoured water, the Estus slides down my throat. After gulping down a mouthful, I put the bottle down. It disappears without a trace.

Then I blink. What the hell? My actions were almost on auto-pilot there. I'd intended to call out the Estus Flask, and then examine it at the very least. Instead I'd drunk from it without even consciously realizing it.

I stare at my hand, a little concerned. Well… I suppose the flask is just following gameplay mechanics from Dark Souls. Using items is supposed to leave you a little vulnerable. It's not like the Chosen Undead can drink from an Estus Flask while running away from enemies or anything.

Although this gives me an idea. The next time I use an Estus, I'm going to try jogging at the same time. I wonder what'll happen?

I examine my inventory again.

 **Estus Flask** _ **4/5**_ : _A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest._

The Estus drink actually took the edge off of my hunger a bit. That's very, very relieving. I don't know if 5 sips is enough to get me through a whole day, but I have a feeling I'll probably end up finding out.

I return to the pier. There's a few unsavory looking people milling about, but no sign of the fisherman from before. Damn, that's a shame.

Let's see. I narrow my targets down. There's a group of 3 men guffawing on my right, a pretty woman with two older men guarding her passing by on my left, and a nondescript fellow a bit ahead. The men guarding the woman look a little tense, so I ignore them and approach the solitary man, who looks like he's waiting for someone.

We make eye contact and I suppress an instinct to look away. It's a little awkward maintaining eye contact without being close enough to talk to someone, but I try not to reflect that in my body language.

I approach the man. He's pretty unremarkable, with rough cotton clothes and swept-back brown hair.

"Hey man, got a quick second?" I ask casually.

The man is eyeing my blue jeans, but I don't comment on it. "Whatcha need?"

I think about introducing myself as someone new to the island, but decide against it. No need to make myself look vulnerable. "You know who I could talk to ta' find a boat, or somethin' like that, that's heading to Plegia?"

The man _tsk_ s. "Maybe yeah, and maybe no. My memory ain't what it used to be, ya know."

The man is still eyeing my jeans, and it hits me a second later. He probably thinks I have money because he's never seen denim before, and my jeans are dyed blue on top of that. In a belated flash of insight, I realize that might be why the fisherman from before spoke to me, a stranger, for so long. He must've thought I had money, and that always commands some kind of interest.

"That's a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. I turn around to leave. "Don't worry yourself about it then, man. I'll go find someone with a sharper memory."

The man scowls. "Oi, c'mon now," he says.

I look back at him dryly. "I don't got money, ya know. Just this lucky pair of pants, is all."

The man considers that. "Ain't many people here who knows this place well as ol' Bunty does, lemme tell ya. Ain't asking for much, mate. You help me a little, I help you a little."

Well, now I know his name. I snort.

"Would if I could. Ain't got nothin' other than the clothes on my back, I'm afraid," I say. "I'm hopin' to fix that, but to do that, I gotta get myself to Plegia."

The man doesn't look happy to hear that. I'm 99% sure it's because it means he can't make any gold off of me, and not because he actually has any empathy for me.

"If you could help a friend out, I'd owe you one, Bunty," I press a bit, and then decide to stop. At least I called him by his name. It should make him a tiny bit more inclined to be friendly.

Bunty spits. "Har, they all say that. How're you gonna owe me one from Plegia, eh? Ah, forget it," he says, waving a hand dismissively when he sees me about to speak. "Not like you can even get to Plegia if ya don't got no gold, eh? Unless you're holding out on ol' Bunty." He peers at me suspiciously.

I wave my hands placatingly. "I ain't that kind of man, friend."

It's Bunty's turn to snort. "No gold, and you want to get on a ship? The hells you thinking, stranger?"

Ouch, he called me stranger when I called him friend. Ah well, doesn't really matter.

"I'm thinking there's someone on this island who can spare a tiny bit of room for a man who'll _work_ , y'know?" I prod. I don't know whether or not labourers are in demand at all here, but I'm praying that I can fill some role. "They help me, I help 'em, everyone's happy."

"Har!" Bunty laughs. "Aye, that's a good one. The only ones who'll take ya on without gold are their type," he gestures at the 3 men I'd considered talking to earlier, still joking around with each other over something I can't hear. "If ya got the stomach for it, 'course."

I think Bunty's implying that the men are pirates. Or possibly gay and looking for favors, if I choose to interpret his words in a totally different way. My mind instinctively shies away from both options.

"Rough bunch, by the look of 'em," I say. If I could earn some gold elsewhere and then pay for space, that'd be a nice alternative. "If ya know anyone willing to part with some coin to get an honest day's work done, though…"

"Pah!" Bunty says. "D'ya think people like that grow on fuckin' trees?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Worth a shot. Thanks, Bunty. I'll remember you whenever I come back around from Plegia."

Bunty thinks about that for a bit. He probably writes it off as a worthless platitude as he shakes his head and mutters something I don't catch.

I spend some time talking to others on the pier. I only approach people who don't seem threatening or pirate-y, which seriously cuts down on who I can talk to. As a result, I don't learn much over the next hour. I'm seriously contemplating talking to a few of the more dangerous-looking fellows.

Or not. "Don't look at me like that, ya Feroxi piece o' shit!" a man hollers. It takes me a second to realize he's addressing me. It seems a little early to be drunk, but I guess that didn't stop the man. We're drawing some attention, so I decide it's time to cut my losses and leave. I've pieced together that some of the locals live in a village near the pier, so I head on over.

I've worked up a bit of the sweat while walking and I'm hungry again. I may as well take another sip of Estus, after making sure no one's around. Remembering what happened last time, I decide I'll try using the item while jogging.

 _Use item_.

The flask manifests in my right hand and it consumes my focus as I take a swig-

Damnit, I stopped jogging!

My hunger subsides, though. I've got 3 sips left, which should last me the day. Barely.

I spend the rest of the day hanging around the village, talking to whoever I can. I learn some interesting things.

"Nah, don't think anyone's hirin' on right now. Though you can always ask-"

"I heard Kel's kid went off to work for Zanth. Can you believe-"

" _Shh_!"

"Yeah, you'd wanna ask Bunty about that. That busy-body seems to know _everything_ -"

"Heard Josy's pregnant again, that'll be her fifth kid-"

… Mainly, that people on this island are serious gossips. I can see people eyeing my clothes and whispering about me, too. It doesn't bother me too much. The people are friendly in their own reserved, sometimes-aggressive manner.

One key bit of info that I learn is that Gangrel is on the throne of Plegia, and there's talk of rising tensions with Ylisse. So, the war hasn't started yet, at least so far as anyone here has heard. That's comforting to hear. I'd worried a little about being summoned into a completely irrelevant time, like a few generations before Chrom is born, but it seems like I won't need to worry about that.

Pirates are a thing around here, but people really don't seem to want to talk about them. It's as if they think by ignoring the problem, it'll go away. Or perhaps they're just afraid of being silenced if they speak out. You can never really know if the friend or stranger you're talking to is secretly affiliated with pirates, after all. I shiver at the stories I hear of pirates looting and killing.

Night falls by the time I take my last swig of Estus. I idly wonder whether or not I'll run into any nutrient deficiencies if I rely on it exclusively, then decide I'm too tired to stress about it. No one's willing to take a stranger in at the village, and I quickly learn to stop asking.

I walk a good 45 minutes away from the village, deciding to sleep on the flattest patch of ground I can find next to a giant rock. I really don't want to get robbed of my pants, so I take a wary look around my sleeping site. I don't think there's anyone living too close-by.

This is the best I can do. I fall asleep under a brilliant set of stars that I've never seen before.

This is the best I can do, but I need to do better.

* * *

 **Dark Awakening – Now Loading**

 **Mark of the Left Hand** : _A skill inherited from a long deceased Outrealm warrior. Enables use of all weapon types._

 _According to legend, the warrior single-handedly battled an army and survived._

 _Despite his fearsome battle prowess, the fabled Left Hand of God was but a servant to higher powers. The Left Hand would use his weapons expertise to guard his Master as she channeled fearsome magics, making the duo near unbeatable in combat._

 _Some say that the Left Hand grew disillusioned with his Master, and finally slew her to break free of her control. Others say he fell in love with her, and that the two departed for lands unknown._

 _None remain of the Left Hand's homeland to divine truth from fiction._

* * *

I'm a little flummoxed when I wake up and I realize that I can't brush my teeth. Shaking my head, I do my other business somewhere out of the way, and then return to the pier.

From what I've heard, it looks like I don't have too much of a choice. A war is on the horizon, and I still don't know what timeline I'm in. If this is the first, doomed timeline, my foreknowledge means that I've got a responsibility to help. I need to get to Ylisse. I need to warn Chrom about Grima, Emmeryn, Walhart, and everything else.

The fisherman from before is back. He opens his mouth to give a greeting, but it transforms into a dark glare as he sees me approach the 3 burly men that Bunty pointed out to me yesterday. I've spoken to enough people to know who they are, but dark times call for dark measures.

The men give me an interested glance as I approach them.

"Hey," I say without preamble as I walk up to them. "Word's out that you're looking for guys that can get work done…"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favs and follows so far, guys.**

* * *

Well, the good news is that I've got a way off the island. Of course, the bad news is that it's with a bunch of pirates. I try to disguise my nervousness as I walk aboard the _Raven_. It seems like a nice enough ship, but I'm sure it wasn't acquired legally.

"Yer seriously in luck with yer timing, lad." Garm, the pirate who "recruited" me, lays an arm over my shoulder as we walk. I suppress the urge to wrinkle my nose; I don't exactly smell like roses, either. "The _Raven_ 's been fallin' to shit with these half-assed swabbies we keep pickin' up. Cap'n don't take shit though, no sir, so o'erboard they go, yes sir."

I think Garm considers himself a bit of a scholar, with his _yes sir_ -ing. He probably is, relatively speaking.

Garm catches my expression and his grip tightens. "Ah, don't worry, lad! The fuckin' swabbies are shit 'cuz we pick 'em up from Naga-knows-where. Buncha brats, all of 'em. Ain't ever we get people who's come on their own, no sir, not to be a fuckin' swabbie. Ya know Roll?" Garm looks around the ship. There's not too many people aboard right now, but he lowers his voice anyway. "He's our fuckin' quartermaster, but I've heard he was a cabin boy for years and years, back in the day. Yes sir."

I have to actively try to stay upright as Garm pounds me on the back. I think he meant it as a re-assuring pat, but I'm probably going to feel that tomorrow.

"Cap'n should be around soon," Garm continues. "Just tell 'im whatcha told me, and you'll be in, yes sir."

I give an affirmative grunt. "Yeah, thanks Garm. What time we gonna be leavin'?"

"Eh, cap'n told the boys to all be here in 'bout an hour," he answers vaguely. "So couple o' hours, at least."

"What d'ya wanna do 'til then?" I ask.

"Oi!" comes in another voice. A reedy-looking man walks aboard and points at me. "Who's that with ya there, Garm?"

"We'll get ya to meet the lads, that's what we'll do," Garm says to me, thumping me on the back. He raises his voice to include the newcomer. "Oi yourself, Scrawny! This here's our latest swabbie, yes sir."

"That right?" Scrawny gives me a quick look-over and shrugs. "Eh, looks better than the last boys we picked up. Remember them fuckin' Valmese brats?"

Garm laughs. "Fuckin' wimps, all of 'em."

I have a strange feeling that I'm missing something, but I can't place my finger on it. I put it out of my head and give an acknowledging grunt to Scrawny.

"Name's Mark," I say with a nod. I'm not going to give these guys my character name of Ess'ai. I'm not sure if they could do anything with it, but there's no harm in being paranoid, right?

Man, I've been here for a day and I already have 2 fake names. Excellent.

"Yer name's swabbie 'til Cap'n says otherwise," Scrawny says back. He doesn't speak rudely, but it doesn't sound friendly, either.

I shrug. Fair enough.

Scrawny seems to put me out of mind and gestures back to the pier. "Saw the Cap'n comin' up just a bit behind me," he says to Garm.

Garm raises an eyebrow. "Already? Ah, there he is!"

All men on deck raise their voices in acknowledgement when a new man boards the ship, so I assume he's the captain. He looks intimidating enough, with tanned skin, a bald head, and a face riddled with scars.

"Settle down, ye louts," he roars, and everyone quiets down. I swallow as he makes his way straight over to us, stopping right in front of me.

"Who're you?" he asks bluntly.

Garm puffs his chest out. "Found 'im myself, cap'n. Wants to join up with us, even as a swabbie, yes sir!"

The captain scowls. "Ain't asking you, Garm. What's your name, lad?"

I haven't done anything wrong, but my heart is pumping hard anyway. "Mark, sir," I answer.

The captain grunts. "Come with me. Garm, go find Roll and send 'im over to my cabin. He's somewhere on the pier now."

"Aye, cap'n," Garm gives me another bone-shattering pat on the back before he leaves.

I follow the captain in silence up a set of stairs and enter his cabin. It's smaller than I thought it'd be. The captain tosses a bag onto the ground and then sits down on a chair behind a rough desk. There's nowhere for me to sit, so I remain standing.

"Garm picked you up, eh?" he says eventually.

"Yes, sir," I say.

He snorts. "Aye, cap'n," he corrects me. "Leave the yes sir-ing to Garm."

"Aye, cap'n."

"Ever been on a ship before, lad?"

"N-nay, cap'n," I answer, remembering the opposite for _aye_.

"So why the fuck d'ya want to be a swabbie, then?" he asks bluntly.

I take a breath and review my answer. I was able to give a longer, better answer to Garm, but it's because he was surprisingly talkative. The captain strikes me as a man of efficiency and brutal straight-forwardness, so I'll have to summarize my answer if I want to appeal to his nature.

"I can work hard and learn fast," I answer succinctly. "But there's no chances to do anything on this island. Least I can learn by watching as a swabbie."

The captain looks me in the eyes. "Ya know how to fight?"

I've been expecting this question and I'm still a little conflicted on how to answer. If I say yes, I might eventually get a chance to get in some bow training while surrounded by meat-shields. It's a good training environment. But who will my bow be used against? If I have to attack innocent civilians…

Well, I don't think I'd be making the situation too much worse, honestly, but it's the morality of the issue. Fortunately, the Outrealmer class gives me a way out.

"Not really," I admit. "But I think I can use basic healing staves."

The captain looks a little interested. "Ya _think_?"

"My whole family could, back when they were still alive," I lie. "Ain't never had a chance to test it, but aye, I think I could do it with a bit of time."

The captain shakes his head. "Healing is good, but if ya can't fight, ya ain't never gonna be anythin' other than a cabin boy. A servant."

Damn, that's sounding like a no. I'm about to throw caution to the winds and say I think I'd be good with a bow, but the captain silences me with a glare. "You know how to read, lad?"

Oh, shit, I don't know if I can read the writing in this world. I blink, keeping my face neutral. "My ma taught me some letters," I answer vaguely.

Judging by the captain's scowl, he wanted a yes or no answer, but he pulls up a piece of yellowed paper. It looks a lot thicker and rougher than the paper I'd use at home, and it's irregularly shaped.

"Can you read this?" he asks gruffly.

I glance down. It's some kind of cursive writing, but I can decipher the words. It's an agreement, of sorts.

"Section 1: Rationing of foods, goods, and loot," I read aloud. "Aye, cap'n, I can read it."

The captain looks surprised. "Aye? Read it and learn it, then, lad, and sign at the bottom when yer done."

Is… is that a yes? I think it is! He's okay with me joining, then!

I skim the paper. No bringing women aboard, no candles below-deck, keeping weapons clean… shouldn't be a problem, though these punishments are rather harsh. It doesn't matter too much to me, because I'm planning on ditching these guys as soon as I get to Plegia.

I have to actively make sure I don't gulp when I read section 7. The captain is still watching me.

 _Section 7: Deserting_. Punished by death. The writing here is vitriolic, so I guess these guys really, _really_ dislike deserters. And that's exactly what I'm planning to do as soon as we land anywhere on the same continent as Ylisse.

Under the guise of reading carefully, I take another second to carefully consider my actions. Am I being an idiot?

These pirates are a fast way off the island. Sure, I could've hung around the island for longer and looked for an alternative route, but it would be a completely blind gamble. No, I still agree with the me of yesterday, who decided to join up with these pirates. If I missed my chance now, who knows when they'd be back? It's a fortunate coincidence, the fact that they're leaving so soon after I awaken on this island.

… Coincidence? Or narrative patterns? No, I shouldn't bother thinking about this now. If I hesitate, it makes me look suspicious. I've already committed to my strategy, and I need to see it through.

I eye the dip pen on the captain's desk, and when he nods at me, I grab it and brush it lightly in an adjacent inkwell before adding my fake name to a list of signatures at the bottom of the document. Most of the other signatures are messy scrawls, so I try to make sure my writing isn't overly neat.

"Oi, cap'n," a dark-skinned man walks into the cabin.

"Roll," the captain greets the man, and I realize that I'm looking at the quartermaster for this ship. Roll looks at me curiously.

"Welcome aboard. Now get ye gone, lad," the captain barks impatiently at me. "Find Garm, he'll put ye to work."

I nod and back out of the cabin, leaving the two to discuss their own matters.

Garm sets me to mopping below deck almost straight-away. There are two boys already working, who can't be older than 16. They don't look like they want to be here.

Most of the crew sleeps below deck, either on the ground or in a few hammocks that've been set up here. Still, it's not too late in the day, so it's not as packed as it could be. If I'm going to get cleaning done, now's the time.

It'd be a lot easier if I didn't have to deal with all the ribbing, though.

"Oi, new swabbie on deck?" a sailor pokes me. "Where'd we pick you up from, eh?"

I look him in the eyes. "Came on my own. Mind yer feet."

I mop around him, not showing any tension. People's treatment of you changes a lot depending on your bearing and reactions. I'm trying to be as low-key as I can without being a pushover.

The pirate guffaws. "Mind me feet, he says. Where d'ya get off tellin' me to mind my feet?"

There's really no good quick answer I can think of, but I'm sure silence is bad, too. It'll make me seem like a door-mat. I settle for a grunt and a "whatever", continuing on mopping past the sailor.

He puts an arm on my shoulder. "Oi, I asked you a question, swabbie!"

I push it off, pretending to be irritated. "Section 5, no fighting the crew when we're on the ship. Lemme do my work."

The sailor blinks, sounding surprised. "What's that? You signed? But yer a swabbie-"

I piece together what I missed before. He just asked where they "picked me up". Garm used similar terms. And when I look at the 2 boys that are cleaning along with me, it becomes kind of obvious.

Swabbies and cabin boys here are slaves. They were captured, probably when these pirates raid a town or something.

"Like I said, came on my own," I say, not looking at the man. "Don't wanna be a swabbie forever, but we've all gotta start somewhere."

I move on past him, but he seems interested now.

"On yer own…" the sailor frowns. "Ah, you's one of 'em runaways, then? Whatchu running from?"

"Not a runaway," I grunt. The shorter I keep my answers, the faster this conversation will be over.

"Oh yeah? Then where'd ya get 'em pants? Stoles 'em, I bet. Killed a man and ran, I bet."

"Nope," I answer curtly.

The sailor grins knowingly. "Aye, 'course not," he says, tapping his nose. I let out a deep breath when he goes off to talk to another sailor. So far, so good.

We cast off a few hours later, while the sun is still high in the sky. There's a lot more people on the ship than I would've expected, but most of them are staying above deck at the moment.

I stay below deck to clean. This place is seriously grimy, but I'm just glad that I have work to do. If I can be useful, it means that I won't get thrown overboard. I mop, clean, and tidy up on occasion, reorganizing bags and blankets until my back is sore. I lie down for a few seconds to recover when I can, but never when there's a risk of a sailor catching me. I can't look weak.

I don't speak to anyone else, slaves included, nor do they speak to me. Now that we've cast off, everyone seems to be in their element. It's noisy. There's the sprays of water and the frequent yelling I hear above deck, as well as the constant creaking of wood.

The rocking of the boat gives me a bit of nausea when I go above deck to clean. I have to close my eyes, but then my character page comes up and I instinctively try to read it, which makes it worse.

"Ain't got yer sea legs yet, eh lad?"

There's a hearty chuckle and a familiar thump on my back that can only be Garm. I don't open my eyes. Something very unusual happens when my mind focuses on the man next to me.

 **Garm**  
 **Berserker**

LV: 8. EXP: -.  
HP: 72/72

I can see his stats.

"Workin' on it," I say, cutting myself off because I know my voice isn't as steady as I want it to be.

I can see his stats, and they're scary.

Str: 40  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 21  
Spd: 32  
Lck: 16  
Def: 22  
Res: 5

Mov: 6

That's absurd. This guy's probably as strong as a Shepherd! What is this, lunatic mode?

… Oh god, I seriously hope not.

No, wait a second. I'm coming from an area associated with an endgame paralogue. Of course the pirates here are going to be strong.

"Best learn quick," he says. "Open seas ain't a place for anyone with a weak stomach, no sir."

"Open seas?" I ask quizzically, opening my eyes. "We need to brave the seas to get to Plegia? It ain't that far away, is it?"

If I remember my map correctly, the body of water separating this paralogue from the mainland isn't that wide.

"Plegia? We're headed West, lad, not East." Garm lets out a bark of laughter. "Though ya don't need to worry. Swabbin's the same no matter where we go, yes sir!"

Oh, son of a _bitch._

"Speakin' of which," I say, gesturing to my mop. Garm nods lets me get back to cleaning with another thump on my back, leaving me to my thoughts. They go something like this:

 _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu_ -

Well, at least I'm relatively safe so long as I work hard. Exploring the world can only be good, because I sure as hell wasn't going to get anything done stuck on that paralogue island.

I get the feeling that I'm just trying to justify my actions to myself.

The dark-skinned quartermaster, Roll, comes around later to let me know where to grab some food. I thank him, and when he turns away, I close my eyes to check his stats.

 **Roll**  
 **Sniper**

LV: 20. EXP: -.  
HP: 80/80

Str: 38+5  
Mag: 5  
Skill: **48** +2  
Spd: **40**  
Lck: 20  
Def: 38  
Res: 26

Mov: 6+1

These guys are unbelievably dangerous. He's got standard Awakening skills, too: movement+1, skill+2, prescience, hit rate +20, and bowfaire. Well, at least there's no lunatic plus skills, right?

I check the stats of everyone else that I can see when I have a chance. Roll is the highest-rated pirate I've seen so far, but that's to be expected. It turns out that everyone respects the quartermaster; he's considered to be comparable in rank to the Captain himself. The Captain's in his cabin right now, so I can't check his stats.

There's a few barbarian-class pirates here, who're a lot weaker than Garm but still a hell of a lot stronger than me. When I look at my fellow swabbies, I'm not surprised by what I see.

 **George  
Villager**

LV: 8. Exp: -.  
HP: 17/23.

Villager. I clench my mop a little harder, but there's nothing I can do right now.

We sail for hours. The sun falls, and I'm still cleaning and running errands. The bottoms of my jeans are soaked with sprays of water. Dinner is a small affair with hard tack and barreled water. The tack is a tough, plain biscuit. I'm glad for it, though. It's the first food I've consumed in this world that isn't Estus. I think with both hard tack and Estus, I'll finally be able to sleep without really being hungry.

I take advantage of the water as much as they'll let me. Apparently, water doesn't keep for too long in barrels anyway, so we've got to finish it within a couple of days. After that, the only drinks available will be rum and wine.

I'm not looking forward to travelling with a bunch of drunk pirates.

I'm glad when Garm finally signals me to tell me to go sleep. I head down below deck with him. There are a few hammocks available, but I'm not going to bother staking a claim on that around such a dangerous bunch. I find an open enough spot next to another swabbie, and lie down on the hard wood.

With the unfamiliar creaking and rocking of the boat, and the curses of the pirates as a few of them argue for a hammock, sleep is slow in coming. I sip at the remainder of my Estus before I doze off, my dreams troubled.

* * *

 **Dark Awakening – Now Loading**

 **Maiden's Blessing (Night)** : _A penalty born of the Outrealm skill "Speaker for the Dead." Appear as a Risen during night-time, even when in human form._

 _A young maiden, once heralded as a Saint, willingly accepted a Demon's Soul to help the lowest of monsters deal with the agony of their existence. Alongside her faithful knight, she travelled into the depths of darkness to comfort and heal those forsaken by God. She was eventually cut down for her blasphemy._

 _To the compassionate, even the greatest of curses can be seen as a blessing._

* * *

The next day passes uneventfully. Scrawny the pirate shakes me awake, and I get to work quickly. I learn a bit about living on a ship.

We can do our business while over a bit of rigging at the head of the ship. Waves of water wash it away. Unfortunately, no one bathes while on a ship, since the water is a little too valuable. We're all starting to smell a little, for those of us who didn't smell right from the get-go.

"How long 'til Valm, Scrawny?" I ask as I swab the deck.

It's not an insult. That literally seems to be his character name.

 **Scrawny  
Barbarian**

LV: 16. EXP: -.  
HP: 30/30

I think he's one of the more recent recruits, since he isn't nearly as strong as some of the other pirates.

"Don't think we's headed to Valm, swabbie," he says, spitting over the rails of the ship. "There's a nice island in-betweens us and Valm. O'erdo for a visit, so I hears."

My blood runs cold, but everyone else I speak to confirms what Scrawny tells me.

We're going to be hitting some innocent civilians in a few days time. I should've expected as much. I'd hoped that I'd joined a band of pirates like Fargus' in Fire Emblem 7, but no luck.

I've gotten the real deal here. Pillaging, murdering, thieving pirates. Our captain is in league with Zanth, the Southron Sea King.

On the upside, we'll be heading back around to strike at a coast-town in Plegia right after. It'll give me a chance to get the hell away from these guys. That's a silver lining to a pretty dark cloud.

On the 4th day of our trip, as the sun is falling, the island comes into view. The captain rounds us up to give a speech. It's short and to the point. I close my eyes as he speaks.

 **Ulric  
Berserker**

LV: 20. EXP: -.  
HP: 80/80

Str: **50** +5  
Mag: 0  
Skill: **35**  
Spd: **44**  
Lck: 39  
Def: **34**  
Res: **30**

Mov: 6

"Alright, boys," he roars. "Time to do what ye do best!"

Captain Ulric seems to be pretty popular with his men, because they yell their agreement. A lot of them have had more drink than necessary for tonight. I feel a little sick.

Quartermaster Roll comes around to me soon after.

"Oi, swabbie," he says. He's a lot quieter than the other pirates, but he speaks clearly, with a lot less slang. "Heard from the captain that you're looking to move your way up, and that you might know how to use staves."

He gestures to a staff of knotted wood in his hand, topped with a dull gem.

I stop myself from gaping. "… You think I should come along?"

Roll nods. "If you're serious about being one of us, then yes."

Around us, the crew is bustling as the island draws closer and closer. The sun is fading. Do the inhabitants see us coming? Do they recognize us as pirates?

Roll's eyes are sharp, and he's watching me carefully. Does he know how disgusted I am with what's happening? Does he know what I'm struggling with, even now?

It's not like I'm taking a weapon, though. A healing instrument… that can only ever be good, right? My presence as the pirates attack, it can't make anything _worse_ for anyone else.

I nod jerkily, not trusting my voice right now. Silently, Roll hands me the staff.

"What did I tell ya, Roll?" a voice booms. Garm claps my shoulder as he comes up from behind me. "Told ya he'd take it. Don't worry, swabbie, I'll show ye the ropes. Gar har har!"

I think he's drunk.

Roll is still staring at me. I don't break eye contact with him, and eventually he nods, pulling away to talk to others.

Garm's still talking loudly in my ear, but I can barely hear him. My grip tightens on my healing stave as we draw closer to an unsuspecting coastal village on this new island.

The sun falls.

The captain calls for us to quiet down as we approach. There's excited whispers and suppressed laughs as we draw closer and closer. I'm praying for an alarm, for a sentry or someone on the island to notice us. But there's nothing.

We drop anchors offshore, and steal off into small boats. Garm is sitting right next to me as we row closer to shore, huddled together.

"Almost time, boys!" he whispers loudly.

We pull ashore, and it begins.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback & favs & follows, guys. ****Heads up – this chapter is a bit longer than usual, and covers a few dark themes.**

* * *

Hell. In a matter of minutes, this small coastal village has turned into hell.

I look up, almost expecting to see fire and brimstone. Instead, I see slivers of the moon hidden behind clouds of black. A cold wind blows.

There are no demons to crack their whips upon the souls of sinners, but I wish there were. Would demons be able to stop these pirates? Perhaps not.

Hell.

Commotion and panic fill the air. The villagers are finally all awake, but it's far too late for them to defend themselves. They've been completely caught off guard. Have they never experienced a pirate raid before? Did a coastal village really have no warning system in place for such an event?

I can't blame the victims. Even with advance warning, I don't think they could have done much. My shipmates are overwhelmingly powerful.

Garm has long since dashed off ahead of me. I'm staying back, just outside of the village proper. I watch the pirates weave in and out between houses, hear the sounds of violence coming from within the homes of the islanders.

A handful of the defenders are trying to mount some kind of counterattack. I can see a few men, still in plain nightclothes, brandishing spears and moving together in a circle, guarding an archer in their midst. The archer is a fierce-looking woman who moves warily, eyes scanning back and forth for any easy targets.

The group moves as one, staying hidden in shadows, trying to pick off individual pirates. They don't see me. I strafe around them, maintaining the distance between us, but trying to keep them in my line of sight. When I can, I quickly close my eyes to try to get a read on them.

They're not strong enough. Even the strongest of the lance-wielders…

 **Card  
Villager**

LV: 19. EX: -.  
HP: 20/35

Str: 15  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 12  
Spd: 16  
Lck: 22  
Def: 13  
Res: 4

They won't be enough.

One of the weaker barbarians in our crew is pounding on the door of a house, trying to break it down. Silently, the group approaches him. The archer attacks first, shooting him in the back. The spearmen dash forward, stabbing him with clumsy thrusts, even as the barbarian tries to spin and slash at them with his axe. He doesn't last long, and I make no move to help him.

I can't hear the sounds of the pirate's death with the rest of the commotion. The group of defenders pulls back around, out of my sight. As they do, I close my eyes and set my focus on the bow-woman.

 **Rena  
Sniper**

LV: 2. EX: -.  
HP: 34/34

Str: 16  
Mag: 5  
Skill: 20+2  
Spd: 18  
Lck: 10  
Def: 11  
Res: 8

She's strong. Judging by what I've seen so far, she's probably the strongest defender this villager has. But it's nowhere near enough to repel these pirates. I want to tell them to cut their losses and run, but I know they won't listen to me. If anything, they'll attack me.

Should I try anyway? I spend a few seconds debating the matter, and then the decision is taken out of my hands.

"O'er here, boys! We got ourselves some heroes!"

The defenders have been found. A lone Berserker shouts to get the attention of his fellow pirates.

Torchlight illuminates the defending group, and pirates surge forth from all around the village in response to the call.

"Stay back!" the archer barks out. She has an arrow drawn, trained on a barbarian, but she doesn't fire. Her allies form a loose circle around her, tightly gripping their lances. The archer might be able to take out 1 pirate before her allies are overrun. She has no hope of an actual victory. I think she knows it, but her face betrays no fear.

"Leave us alone!" she says. "Or are there volunteers among you to be the first to die?"

What incredible courage. Her voice doesn't falter. The pirates are edging closer, but so long as the archer has an arrow drawn, no one wants to take the first step.

That all changes when I hear Garm's voice in the crowd. My heart sinks.

"Oi," he says. "Did they kill Scrawny?"

"Aye," another says. "I think they did! Look 'ere!"

Murmurs rise from the pirates.

"Well, lads," Garm's voice is slurred, "I say it's only fair we pay 'em back, yes sir! Gar har har!"

"I'm warning you!" the archer's voice sharpens, and her bow is fixed on Garm.

Garm charges anyway. There's a _twang_ as the archer finally releases her arrow. It hits Garm dead-on, and then anarchy erupts.

"Get 'em, boys!"

Like a pack of vicious hyenas, the pirates descend upon the defenders, axes whirling. The village men try to hold out, jabbing their lances in desperation, but even if the pirates take a few hits, it changes nothing. The village men die, cruelly slashed.

The archer, to her credit, manages to get in a second shot on Garm while her allies fall around her. He doesn't even seem to notice. With a roar and a swing of a mighty fist, he knocks her cleanly to the ground.

Not even 10 seconds. Not even 10 seconds for the best defense this village could muster to be utterly annihilated.

My eyes are fixed upon the bodies of the dead villagers, and I vaguely notice that I've started walking towards the scene of the massacre. My gut is roiling, but I can't look away. Streaks of red paint the ground, almost all of it from the defending side.

I feel numb, looking at their corpses. Around me, many of the pirates are dispersing, going back to raiding the local homes. A few of them actually kick at the dead village men, laughing loudly.

And a few of them are gathered around Garm and the archer, who I belatedly realize is still alive. Garm is laughing the loudest of all. He grabs at her.

"Get off of me!" she snarls, pushing and twisting.

"Oi, none of that now," Garm growls, punching her again. "You shot me, yes sir, so yer gonna pay the price."

I get the implication, and my blood freezes. My mind freezes. My body is made of ice.

 _He can't be planning to…_

The archer – no, Rena, her name is Rena – is trying to fight off Garm, but it's of no use.

 _No, don't do it…!_

Garm is clawing at Rena in his drunken stupor.

 _Do something, you idiot!_

"Oi, Garm!" I call out. Is my voice a little shrill? Drunk as he is, though, Garm still seems to recognize my voice. He looks up at me, obviously irritated.

"Oi yourself, swabbie!" he grunts. "Whaddya want?"

Fuck, I don't have a plan. I can't fight him 1-on-1, let alone with the rest of the crew around us. I don't think I can just tell him to stop. Is there something I could use to distract him, even when he's like this?

What do I have? Estus flask, useless. Darksign, useless. Healing staff, useless. Wait, maybe not.

I try to control my expression. Garm's mostly oblivious because he's drunk, which should make things a little easier.

"You've got arrows in you," I point out bluntly, gesturing at my staff. "Sure you don't wanna fix that first?"

"I'd rather pay 'er back first," he growls, but he's probably familiar with the idea of infection, because he moves to pull out the arrowheads from his body. They didn't penetrate nearly as deep as I'd have expected, based on the speed the arrows were shot with. It is because of his high defense stat?

He takes out the arrowheads on his own, wincing. I scan his HP.

 **Garm**  
 **Berserker**

LV: 8. EXP: -.  
HP: 64/72

"I can try to heal you," I volunteer. It's a delaying tactic, but I can't think of anything else to do. Maybe if I can distract the crew, Rena can try to run. Scanning her HP doesn't leave me with much hope of that, though.

 **Rena  
Sniper**

LV: 2. EX: -.  
HP: 5/34

Did Garm do that with just a few hits? She's still struggling against Garm, but to no avail.

"Nay," he chuckles, "Practice yer healing on the boys. I've got other things to do, yes sir."

I… can't do anything. Even if I suddenly switched sides, I'd last maybe 10 seconds as a distraction, and that much only if I'm lucky.

The pirates are egging Garm on. I feel sick. I turn around and close my eyes when I hear clothes tear, but that doesn't stop me from hearing Rena's voice.

There's a voice in my head that's getting louder and louder, even as the jeering from the pirates swells.

 _Hey, what are you doing?! Turn around! Stop them! STOP THEM!_

The rest of my mind is silent. I dub my inner voice Humanity. Humanity doesn't let up.

 _Are you really going to let this happen?_ Humanity asks. _You coward! Do something!_

Logic awakens. _Do what? We can't fight, we can't distract them when they've already got their target. All we can do is go down with her._

 _Wrong! We haven't thought it through yet, there's always something! Burn a house, pick up a bow, hit-and-run, something!_

Logic wavers when presented with raw ideas, and Humanity presses its advantage.

 _We're a moral person, right? This is objectively wrong! Step in, change something! You don't have to be seen, you can attack from the shadows!_

I'm frozen in indecision, my mind warring with itself.

"Stop it!" Rena is still fighting. "Get off of me, you-"

 _Perspective_ , Logic says coldly, and somewhere in the back of my mind, Survival-Instinct nods. _There's an estimated 50% chance of this being the first Awakening timeline, meaning this world might be doomed without some kind of special intervention. Intervention that you can bring. And if elements of Dark Souls affect this world, you're the only one who'll know what to do. Are you going to risk that for the sake of one woman who's already being assaulted?_

Humanity hesitates this time, stacking up the lives of the faceless world against Rena.

 _Everywhere there are pirates or bandits, this is happening_ , Logic says. _She's just in front of you, that's all_.

"Someone, _please_ -" Rena's voice cracks. That sound doesn't match the fierce-looking archeress.

Humanity explodes.

 _No, fuck that! Are you going to turn your back on her?! Can you hear her voice?! Listen to her, god damnit, she's terrified! This is wrong!_

But Logic doesn't budge. _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. We can't risk dying here._

 _No, we're just being a fucking coward and trying to justify it! Turn around, damnit, TURN AROUND!_

"Stop it…" Rena's voice is getting quieter.

 _STOP IT! STOP THEM! TURN AROUND!_

But I'm walking away.

 _You've got the Darksign!_ Humanity pleads. _You might be able to come back as a Risen. Just fight!_

 _One life is worth nothing_ , Logic says dismissively. _It's not worth losing our human form_. _We know nothing of what'll happen to us after death. Don't risk anything so early in the game._

 _You're worried about losing your human form? Do you think you can call yourself human if you ignore me?!_ Humanity rages.

It looks like no matter what I do on this island, I'll be losing my humanity. Metaphorically if I don't fight, and literally if I do.

Rena's voice has fallen silent. There's only grunts and the jeers of pirates left.

What should I do? It's possible that this is the second timeline of Awakening, complete with amnesiac Robin, meaning I might not be needed at all in this world. But if there's even a chance that my knowledge is needed to save this world…

And then there's the Dark Souls wildcard, which no one is prepared to react to except for me. Logic is right, in the end.

 _I'll pay them back_ , I tell Humanity. _I-I won't forget this, I won't let it be in vain. I'll change this world, I'll fight the pirates, I'll do something, but I can't_ now _-_

My rage is still burning, my body still shaking, but I suppress it all. I silence the screaming in my mind.

 _Just stop them, stop them, STOP THEM DAMNIT -_

I walk away.

* * *

It's not just Garm. Other pirates are having their way with the inhabitants.

I'm just roaming the island now. My mind is trying to filter out the sounds of this hell but it's becoming harder and harder –

"Oi, swabbie, help me take these back to the boats."

A Berserker passes me a few bags of valuables. There's the sound of metal clinking inside. Silently, I walk with him back to our rowboats. The _Raven_ isn't too far off in the distance, with a few crew members still aboard along with the other swabbies.

We pass by others on our way to and from the _Raven_. Everyone's looting indiscriminately. The loot is going to be collected and examined aboard the _Raven_. The captain and quartermaster will get first pick of what they want, and then less important members will take shares. I don't think I'm qualified to get anything yet; even this heal staff I'm being loaned is generous.

I aimlessly walk into village homes. If I'm going to be a coward about this, then the least I can do is keep my eyes open and acknowledge the people I'm not saving.

It's a small mercy that the pirates aren't really interested in killing. Looting is the priority, and they only kill whoever stands up against them or whoever they perceive as a threat. Unfortunately, their threat tolerance is pretty low, considering most of them have had way too much rum in preparation for today.

I walk inside a quiet house that's already been ransacked and find a young man bleeding out at my feet. Well, I say young, but he's probably around my age.

 **Matthew  
Villager**

LV: 12. EX: -.  
HP: 4/26

The man's breath is coming in short gasps, and his eyes are glazed over. I glance around, but there's no one nearby. Outside, the sounds of violence and looting continue.

I'm powerless to stop my supposed allies, but perhaps I can do some damage control. I've got to try, at the very least. I hold my heal staff above the man. I don't know exactly how to use it, but I have a little while to experiment.

First, I close my eyes to check my inventory.

 **Heal 21/30** : _Restores an adjacent ally's HP._

 _Use item_.

Nothing happens, but I'm not discouraged. The Outrealmer class clearly lists bows and staves as viable weapons, so there's a way to use it. I just need to keep trying.

 _Heal_ , I think. _Use stave. Use staff. Use Heal. Heal ally. Heal enemy? Heal Matthew. Use Heal – Matthew._

Is it just my imagination, or are the man's gasps quickening? I try to put it out of my mind and open my eyes. I wave the staff over Matthew's body, thinking _Heal_ , but that doesn't do the trick.

I've already screwed up enough today. Please, can't I get something right? Matthew's HP decreases to 3.

I try combinations of what I've done before. _Use item – Matthew. Use item – ally. Use item – enemy._ I'm waving the heal staff in the air like an idiot; at least I didn't try this on Garm. It would've decreased my standing to even lower than it already is.

Thinking of Garm brings Rena to mind, and I shush that part of my head.

 _Okay, stop randomly experimenting. Use your head and come up with the most likely possibilities for how this staff might work._

Possibility 1 is that you actually have to be trained to use a heal staff. Otherwise, any of the other pirates could use it. I can't do anything about that, so I should consider other possibilities.

Possibility 2 is that I'm failing because I have 0 magic. Still, I can't do anything about it.

Possibility 3 is that the Heal staff works just like the Estus flask, in that I need to give some kind of mental command. This is pretty likely, seeing as a lot of this world seems to run on RPG mechanics for me. So, what's the most likely trigger phase?

As I think it through, the problem starts looking a lot simpler than it was when I was blindly guessing. I haven't tried the exact in-game combination, yet. I close my eyes to bring up my character page, and then think: _Staff – Heal._

There's a slight thrum that goes through the staff. Bingo.

Eyes still closed, I focus on Matthew enough to bring up his character page. As soon as I do, my body begins to move on its own. My arm is raised in a practiced motion, and I lift the staff into the air. A faint green glow comes from the staff as I work.

I blink as my hands fall back to my side again. It's just like using the Estus Flask; as soon as I try to use a staff, my body moves on its own, without my deliberate intervention. Still, it worked!

 **Matthew  
Villager**

LV: 12. EX: -.  
HP: 11/26

I only healed him for 8 HP. I guess it's to be expected, with 0 magic. At least my experience has increased.

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 1. EXP: 17.  
HP: 17/17

Hm. Do I heal him to full health, depleting the staff a bit more for the sake of experience? Or should I be conservative, and try to spread this staff over as many people as possible?

I don't think the pirates will approve of me healing villagers. I'll do it here secretly while I have the chance. I heal Matthew 2 more times, maxing out his HP and bringing me up to 51 EXP.

Matthew's glazed eyes slowly gain focus, and he blinks. His wounds have closed, and he shakes his head.

"What," he says groggily. "What's… ah, 'Nessa!" The man bolts up, eyes darting around in a panic.

"Stay down," I order. The man's eyes lock on to my own.

"W-who're you?" he asks. "How did you-"

He finally seems to take notice of his surroundings. He looks first at his blood on the floor, then the healing staff in my hands. I see him piecing things together.

"It ain't a dream, then," he says softly. "You – you with them?"

"Not by any real choice," I answer quietly. "Stay here. These pirates are way beyond guys like us."

"I can't," he retorts. "They took my sis, Vanessa, I gotta-"

"Do _nothing_ ," I say firmly. "I'm sorry, but it's too late. If you go out there, you'll die again. I don't think they'll kill any of the women, just-" I break off. As if the alternative is that much better.

"Look," I try again. "They won't take women aboard a ship, even as slaves, I can tell you that much." Thank God for pirate superstitions. "Men and children, on the other hand, they'll absolutely force into slavery. _Stay here_ , and play dead if you have to."

Matthew's got a stubborn expression on. Damn, maybe I shouldn't have healed him to full HP. He gets up, dusting off his rough clothes. "Tarnation," he mutters, looking around. "They stole m'lance. I'll have to find 'nother one somewhere."

"Don't, damnit," I hiss. My mind races for a way to convince him. "They killed Card, and I know for a fact that man was stronger than you."

Matthew freezes. "How d'ya know who Card is?"

My bullshit power lets me see names and stats, not that I'll tell him that. I ignore the question. "They took down Card like it was nothing, and Rena right after. You think you can do what they couldn't?"

Matthew pauses, looking conflicted. "Hells," he says. "I know I can't do nothin', but…!"

"Yeah," I say. I understand his feelings completely. Rena's screams echo in my mind.

 _Stop it, stop it, let go of me!_

"I know, man. I know."

We stand in silence for a while, and then Matthew sits down again.

"Listen," he says slowly. "My sis, she looks like me. Brown hair, up to her shoulders, and blue eyes. If ya see her…"

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do." I'm pretty sure that I won't be able to do anything, though. All I've got is this heal staff.

I think Matthew understands that, because he looks down and clenches his fist. "Okay," he says softly.

I leave him alone in the dark. What else is there to say?

* * *

There are plenty of injured villagers, but I can't heal most of them without being seen by a pirate. I sneak in what I can when no one is looking.

After getting off my 6th heal, I notice a pinging inside my head. I close my eyes.

 _LEVEL UP!_

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 2. EXP: 2.  
HP: 17/18 (+1)

Str: 3  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 3 (+1)  
Spd: 6  
Lck: 3 (+1)  
Def: 9 (+1)  
Res: 7

I've gotten something out of this nightmare, at least.

I end up using the Heal staff on a few pirates as I walk around for the next hour. As much as I hate them, I need to have accomplished something while on land, or I might not get a chance to accompany the pirates when they raid a Plegian coastal town.

I try to only heal lower level barbarians. That way, my paltry 8 HP boosts cover a greater percentage of their total health, making me look a bit more skilled than I am. The Heal staff is running a little low on juice, though.

 **Heal 12/30** : _Restores an adjacent ally's HP._

I don't find anyone matching Vanessa's description, for better or worse. Then again, I haven't walked into any bedrooms occupied by pirates.

I think we're just about done with this village, anyway. We've looted everything of value and the pirates have had their fun. I take a rowboat and return to the _Raven_ with a few of my shipmates.

Roll spares me a glance when I come aboard. The quartermaster didn't come down for the raid, instead keeping an eye on the ship and the slaves. He gives me a brief nod.

"Heard you figured out how to use that staff, swabbie," he says without preamble.

"Barely needed to use it," I sort-of lie.

"Aye," he says. "Well, I can fix that. Go heal Reid, he's below deck now. Idiot took a few too many arrows from some archer woman. She got away from him, too." He shakes his head.

"Archer woma- oh." He's talking about Rena. "I'm pretty sure Garm paid her back," I say shortly, and Roll raises an eyebrow at my tone. Damn, I should mask my emotions better.

I shake my head minutely. "What does Reid look like, again?" I ask, mostly as a distraction.

"Ugly, bald, and riddled with arrows, though I think they've been taken out already," Roll answers. "He wears a red bandana."

"A'right, I'll get to it," I nod casually at Roll and head down to cut our dialogue short. He seems perceptive, and that makes me wary of extending any conversations with him.

I identify Reid with my ability to see names. He's lying in a hammock, muttering curses.

 **Reid**  
 **Berserker**

LV: 6. EXP: -.  
HP: 24/68

He's probably the most injured of all the promoted pirates. With his high defense value, I have to wonder just how it happened. Well, Roll said he was an idiot, so that probably has something to do with it.

"Oi, Reid," I get his attention. "Gonna heal ya, okay?"

"Who the hell-" he starts. "Ah, swabbie. Roll send ya?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'm new at this, though, so it might take a while."

I cast heal once, then twice. Then again, and again.

Reid raises his eyebrows at the slow progress. "Ye fuckin' suck at this, lad."

"Just started today," I admit, casting heal for the 5th time. There's another pinging in my head, but I ignore it to finish my healing.

Reid frowns. "Don' think this is how healin' usually goes, though…"

I'm not sure what to make of the odd comment. I cast my 6th heal, then sigh. "Alright, we're done. Try not to get shot again, yeah?"

"Shut yer fuckin' mouth, swabbie," Reid growls, punching me on the shoulder.

Ow. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but he wasn't pulling his punch, either.

The pinging in my head is getting annoying, so I find a quiet spot and close my eyes.

 _LEVEL UP!_

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 3. EXP: 55.  
HP: 17/19 (+1)

Str: 3  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 3  
Spd: 6  
Lck: 4 (+1)  
Def: 9  
Res: 8 (+1)

Well, look at me just blazing a trail here. All it cost for 2.5 levels was a night of hell for this small village.

At least I seem to have standard growth rates. I was hoping for a point in strength, but I can go without, for now.

Over the next hour, the _Raven_ 's crew returns. We have some new "guests" below deck, mostly young men or boys approaching adulthood. The most surprising thing to me is that we're casting off now. It's late into the night, but that doesn't seem to bother the crew.

I'd have figured that we'd stay on the island overnight, and set off in the morning after restocking. I guess the crew knows what they're doing, though, since there's no complaints. This must be their usual modus operandi: raid at night, loot and pillage for a few hours, and then disappear without anyone the wiser.

Having gone out to battle, I'm not required to clean up the ship before sleeping. My dreams are haunted by Rena's voice.

 _I'm sorry…_

* * *

 **Dark Awakening – Now Loading**

 **Avenger** : _A skill inherited from the last of a proud warrior clan. Permanently grants +10 to all stats upon death of an ally with support rank A or higher._

 _Born into a world of conflict, an earnest youth witnessed the slaughter of his family and swore that he would have his revenge. He fought and trained relentlessly, and was hailed as a genius. The child-soldier's actions become increasingly questionable as he drove himself to achieve greater and greater power. Eventually, he turned against his closest comrades in his quest for vengeance._

 _Whether the price of an avenger's power is cheap or dearly bought depends largely on one's perspective._

* * *

Dawn breaks.

It's strange. The atmosphere on the ship should be different after a successful raid, but it's barely changed. Sure, the pirates seem to be laughing louder and swapping stories and getting drunk earlier as a reward for a successful night, but that's it.

How many times have they done this, that they're barely fazed by completing a raid? How many other people have suffered like those islanders did last night?

I suppose that's the difference between a semi-medieval world and the civilized parts of planet Earth. In this world, if you can get away with something, that's all there is to it. There's no police or FBI or any other shadowy threat stopping people from acting on their base instincts.

I suppose if I were a Seinen protagonist, this would be the part of the story where I make my dramatic resolution to become some kind of Batman equivalent. Someone who ruthlessly hunts down the worst criminals, someone who isn't afraid to dirty his own hands. I've certainly got the motivation for it, after last night.

But that'd just be a stopgap measure, wouldn't it? The more I think about it, the more I realize that what I saw was normal for this world. Even if I invested all of my time into hunting down bandits and scaring them into stopping their lives of crime, it would change nothing in 50 years.

Fight smart, not hard. This world isn't where I want it to be, and I acknowledge that I don't have an instant-fix. Well, I'll shelf the problem for now. Priority #1 is checking in on the Grima threat, and making sure that the world survives it.

I nod firmly. Then I grab my mop and get back to cleaning the decks.

* * *

 **A/N: Fun fact #1 – I actually roll for level ups. The protagonist missed the STR level by 1 when he turned level 3. This should only have minor plot effects in the early-game, but these small things make the writing process a bit more dynamic for me.**

 **In the mid-game, levels may affect what skills the protagonist would realistically choose to compensate for his weaknesses, or to supplement his strengths.**

 **Fun fact #2 – The protagonist has a lower total growth rate than any other member of the cast, but it becomes OK if you factor out magic.**

 **I think it'll kind of be funny if the protagonist gets RNG screwed on strength growths; his innate growth plus the Class growth sums up to a pretty low number. I'll write around it as best and as honestly as I can if it happens.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews and favs, guys.**

* * *

Over the days, my resolve to leave the pirates and make a difference in the world strengthens. I clean and mop consistently, determined to make a good impression while I can. Anything to make it easier to get away when the time comes.

The sky is clear this evening. I'm chewing on some sea biscuits. They're so dry I have to take a sip of rum to soften them. I'm still not used to it. The rum burns, but the hard tack dilutes the effect.

I never had alcohol back on Earth. As much as I'd love to maintain my straight-edged status, I can't afford to stand out. It's like that feeling you get when you're the only one who won't drink at a party. It doesn't really matter on Earth, because everyone respects free will and it's easy to turn a conversation around on someone pressuring you to drink. On a pirate ship, though?

I trust my instincts. When Garm first offered me a drink, they warned me to shut up and take it.

Speaking of whom. "Oi, swabbie, ye coming?" I hear Garm's voice calling me from above deck.

"Oi yourself, Garm," I steal Garm's usual retort as I finish eating. " _Raven_ won't clean herself."

"Har! Yer loss, lad," I can imagine the beefy berserker shaking his head.

We've dropped anchor on a tiny, uninhabited island. Most of the crew is taking advantage of the opportunity to stretch their legs on solid land, and bathe with seawater. Some of the progressive ones are even washing their clothes of all the grime and blood they picked up a few nights back.

There's supposed to be no rest for the wicked, but here we are, just relaxing. Well, most of us.

I eye the captives of our latest raid, cleaning slowly and silently. They don't have the option of going ashore yet, since they're effectively slaves. I can see the hate and fear in their gazes whenever they lay eyes on any of the crew, or even myself, since I'm here by choice. But they're powerless to do anything.

One of them snapped and tried to knock our quartermaster overboard yesterday. That particular villager is now hundreds of feet under the water's surface.

The islanders are cowed, for now. I want to remind them to fight smart, not hard, but I'm not going to risk anything that could reveal my intentions. They're on their own.

I tune out the voices of sailors who've remained on ship. I tune out the roaring quietness of the captive islanders. I do my work, and a few hours pass.

Perhaps I _should_ go clean myself up. Tomorrow, we're finally going to be hitting Plegia, and I know water will be limited there. Asking around, I find a few crewmates who are willing to go ashore with me. I commandeer a few cloths to help me bathe before I go. It's useful to be the one in charge of cleaning, sometimes.

It's nice to get away from the constant creaking of the _Raven_. Pirates are resting and drinking and cleaning themselves wherever I look. I walk along the coastline until I'm secluded enough, and then take off my clothes. My jeans are passable, although the bottoms of the legs are ruined from all the water damage. My shirt smells to high hell and back, and it's accumulated a lot of dirt. I consider washing it, but I don't have anything else to wear, and I'll freeze if I put it back on afterwards. Sighing, I go stand in the seawater.

It's icy. Praying that I don't get sick from this, I splash some water over myself and scrub myself clean with the cloth I brought along for just this purpose. I wish I had soap.

When I'm done, I use the second cloth to pat myself dry before putting my clothes back on. A cold wind with cold water on my body makes for a terrible combination, and I rush back to the _Raven_ to go below deck, shivering.

We're going to stay anchored on this island overnight for the sake of timing. If we cast off tomorrow morning, we'll be able to reach our target as night falls again.

Tomorrow's my chance. I can't screw this up.

* * *

Another dawn, another day. I'm filled with nervous energy as I clean.

We haven't sold or traded any of the loot from our first raid, yet. I guess we're going to build it up a little bit more, first. That's fine by me.

Everyone's been drinking more than usual, since we'll be raiding again tonight. I'm keeping a bit of hard tack with me. Whenever someone passes me a drink, I show them that I'm preoccupied with snacking on the biscuits, and only take a small sip. I need to keep my head clear, tonight, because I've discovered that I have a weak resistance to alcohol. Compared to the pirates, at least.

Garm and Reid are arguing over something fiercely, but I ignore them as Roll walks up to me.

"Alright, swabbie?" he asks.

"Aye," I say. "What's up?"

"You took more tack today than normal," Roll says. As usual, his eyes don't leave mine when he addresses me. Combined with his relatively proper way of speaking, it makes for a formidable impression. "Why?"

My heart beats a little faster. I haven't taken any Estus today, just in case, so I've had to rely on the tack to curb my hunger.

"I barely did nothin' last time we raided," I point out. "And cap'n said ain't no one goes far just bein' a healer. Gotta keep up some strength."

Roll eyes me for a few seconds longer, then nods briefly. "It's fine. You don't eat enough, anyway."

… Is he expressing concern? In any case, I'm glad he doesn't point out the alternative that we're both considering: that I might be hoarding and hiding tack in preparation for escape, now that we're approaching a big enough continent.

I _am_ preparing for escape by eating more tack, but that's because it lets me indirectly hoard Estus, and he can't gauge that. I bet Roll already had his eye on me to make sure I wasn't trying to squirrel away supplies.

"How's your healing staff?" the quartermaster asks.

"Probably gonna die soon," I say. In 6 uses, to be exact. "Nothin' for it, though."

"Aye, don't think I've got a spare for you," he says. "You takin' a weapon this time?"

Holy hell, I hope he's offering one. "Only if you got a spare bow I can use," I say.

Roll almost smiles. "That I do, swabbie," he says. He gestures for me to follow him as he walks to his own tiny quarters, next to the captain's cabin. Roll and the captain are the only two people on the ship with their own dedicated spaces. "You used to usin' bows, then?"

His tone is conversational as he unwraps a small bundle of cloth, revealing a bow partially worked with iron. It looks well-used.

"Er, you got that in bronze?" I ask off-handedly. My weapon rank is still E, after all.

Roll pauses in his unwrapping and raises an eyebrow. "A _nay_ to bow experience, I see," he says, sounding amused. He re-wraps the iron bow and unwraps a second bundle, revealing a solid-looking bronze bow. He's got a whole bunch of bundled cloths, and I realize that they're all different bows. Right, he's a Sniper. "Honestly, bronze weapons aren't easier to handle than iron. That's just a myth."

He's probably right, but I don't think I run on normal logic. I run on game mechanics, and if my character page tells me I can only use bronze bows, I'll trust it.

I wonder what would happen if I tried using a bronze-worked bow alongside iron-tipped arrows. What does weapon rank limit, the bow or arrow type? Or both?

And where do standard wooden bows fit in? Ah, never mind. I need to focus on the conversation.

"Do well with her tonight, and I might let you hold on to her," Roll continues, starting to string the bow. He stops when he notices me staring. "… What, you never seen a bow strung before?"

I hesitate, which probably gives me away. Roll sighs, looking disappointed. "Look, it's easy," he says. "Just put your foot here, and grab this part…" Surprisingly, he walks me through the process, step-by-step.

"Wait, can you show me that part again?"

"What, this? Sure."

"Thanks."

Roll shows me how to properly string and handle his bow. It's an interesting experience.

"Hey, _stop_!" I freeze. Roll sounds angry. "Don't grab at it like that. You'll damage the string!"

"Sorry!"

"I'll show you again," Roll says. "See, at this step you've got to hold it like _this_."

"I don't see the difference," I admit honestly.

A sigh. "Give me your hand. This is what you were doing. This is what you're _supposed_ to do."

"… Hm. Ah! I can see the difference now."

As we work, Roll talks about the subtleties of handling different kinds of bows.

"… so obviously, you don't want to leave it strung like this all the time," he says casually, unstringing the bronze bow and handing it to me. "Not for a quality bow like this. Shoddy bows, sure, leave 'em strung. It's dangerous to keep stringin' and unstringin' bad bows, never know what'll damage 'em or when they'll blow up in your face. Ol' mate of mine lost an eye re-stringing a bow his son made."

"You showed me a method of stringing that could take out my eye?" I ask in disbelief.

Roll snorts. "If you screw it up _and_ you're using a bad bow, yeah. Don't be a baby."

"I'm not," I protest, and hurriedly continue when I realize I sound a bit childish. "I'm surprised, s'all. But I appreciate you showing me this."

Roll just shrugs. "No trouble," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "You're a fast learner."

"So are all of these your bows?" I ask, gesturing to the bundles of cloth Roll has stashed about his quarters.

"Bows and arrows and other equipment, aye," he answers, bending down and passing me an arrow-bag to hang from my belt. He sorts out a few arrows to go with it. I notice they're all bronze-tipped.

"In case you actually believe bronze is the easiest to use," Roll says with a wry grin when he notices my expression.

"Shut up," I mutter, embarrassed. It's not my fault. It's the game mechanics, damnit! I don't _actually_ think bronze arrows are any easier to fire than other arrows.

I change the subject and heft the bronze bow he gave me. "Anyway, Roll," I say. "Where'd you get this from?"

Roll examines the bow. "Port Ferox, near on 15 years ago."

I eye the bow with newfound respect. "15 years? It must'a barely been used, then."

Seriously, this bow looks _fine_. The bronze shines, and the wood is polished nicely. It feels compact and powerful.

"Hah, nay!" Roll looks at his weapon with pride. "She's been used plenty. I just maintained her well."

"Her?" I ask. "By any chance, did you give this bow a name?"

Roll nods. "Aye, and the fish'll have my cold, dead body before I ever tell you."

I find myself laughing at his tone. "Something embarrassing, I bet," I prod. "You name all your bows, or is she special?"

Roll looks like he wants to say 3 different things at once. "Shut it, swabbie," he finally says, smacking me on the arm. "I _used_ to name all of my bows, back when…"

From there, the conversation meanders. He tells me about the time he acquired his favourite bow, and I give all the right non-verbal cues to show my interest. Roll's a pretty good storyteller. He's also amazingly passionate when it comes to archery, which I'd never really have expected of a pirate. He seems like such a practical person, so I assumed he'd view archery as nothing more than a tool.

The conversation switches into how Roll started collecting bows in the first place, and whether or not I have anything I like to collect. I don't, but I can still appreciate Roll's hobby.

Sometimes, though, I have to fight off a grimace. Obviously, most of Roll's bows aren't obtained legally. He gets second-pick of any loot from raids.

That's right. As interesting as he is to talk to, Roll is still a pirate. One that condones everything that this crew does. He's certainly got a fair share of blood on his hands, if he's made it all the way up to quartermaster.

When our eyes meet, I think Roll knows what I'm thinking. But he doesn't say anything.

There's a lull as we lapse into comfortable silence. It'd be a good time for me to thank him and leave, but I can't. There's something I'm wondering, and my curiosity won't shut up.

"… Why?"

Roll raises an eyebrow. "Hm?"

I consider my words carefully before I speak. "I'm grateful, Roll. For everything. But why?"

I don't understand where this conversation and bow came from. No, even before that, Roll lent me a heal staff for our first raid. The pirates didn't really need a healer, though. And even if they did, it's not normal for any swabbie to join a battle so early on. It doesn't add up, even accounting for the fact that I willingly joined the pirates.

Roll seems to understand what I'm asking. He steeples his fingers. "What do you think?" he asks.

I've got no clue. Is he expecting to gain personal loyalty? No, pirates don't work like that, and it doesn't seem to fit what I know of him. For the hell of it? No, Roll doesn't strike me as a whimsical man. He's methodical. You have to be, in order to be a quartermaster. What am I missing?

"I can't think of anything I actually believe," I admit honestly.

Roll's nods silently.

"You've heard about me, haven't you? From the crew."

"Not much," I say, and it's true. The crew respects Roll, because he keeps the ship running and because he's a God with his bow. That aside, they don't interact with him much. Rather, he interacts with them. He tells them what to eat, what weapons to take, and how much loot they're allowed. They accept his orders. It's one-way communication.

It strikes me as a bit lonely. I blink at the errant thought. Where did that come from?

"Nothing?" he presses, seemingly curious. "Perhaps about how I rose to be the quartermaster here?"

"Ah, there is something," I say, remembering when I first walked aboard the _Raven_. It feels like it was months ago. Then I pause, because it isn't really the most flattering thing to say about someone.

"… Aye?" Roll prompts.

"Just, uh, that you used to be a cabin boy for a while before you went up in rank," I say.

Roll snorts. "Aye, a while. A long, long while." The quartermaster pauses for a moment before he speaks again, quietly. "You came aboard willingly to be a swabbie, yeah? To find a new life, even if others might call it dishonest?"

I nod but don't speak.

"Ain't a lot of people who do that, y'know," he says. "But it happens."

It's a vague statement, but I know what he's implying.

"Sentiment?" I say jokingly, but my heart isn't really in it. "Didn't take you for the type."

Roll smiles faintly. "You're a sharp one. Aye, you remind me of myself. You work hard. You're consistent. And when you went out on our last raid, you used your healing staff on some of the villagers, didn't you?"

How the hell did he know? Wait, maybe he's fishing for a reaction. I adjust my body language to give a non-denial denial, shrugging and looking at him as if the answer doesn't matter. Roll doesn't seem to mind.

"You've got no experience, and you're soft," he continues. I resent that! I've got a whopping 55 EXP right now, thank you very much. "But you've got drive, and I see that you can think fast. I want to see what you can make of yourself."

"… Well, I'll try not to let you down, then," I say.

Roll nods. I sense that this is the end of our conversation, so I incline my head to him in a final thanks and leave his quarters.

I head down a short set of steps to the main deck to rejoin the rest of the crew. I re-wrap the bronze bow in cloth to protect it from the salty air.

So, that happened. My conversation with Roll hasn't changed my mind at all. I'm still planning on leaving the pirates. But I'm surprised to find that I'm feeling a little bit of regret at the thought.

There's a faint impression, a tiny nudge in my mind. I close my eyes to check my character screen. Has something changed?

 _Ess'ai and Roll attained support level_ _ **C**_ _._

Oh what the actual fuck –

* * *

I can support people. I can support _non-Shepherd_ characters. I'm trying to figure out how that's significant when I hear someone walking up behind me.

"There she is," Garm gives one of his patented, bone-crushing thumps on my shoulder to declare himself. "Jus' waitin' for us to come 'n take 'er."

The coastal town of Loa is illuminated by faint lights. The _Raven_ , in contrast, is shrouded by the night's fog.

"You're not drunk," I observe mildly as Garm stands next to me. We watch the small town grow larger as we approach. We're probably no more than 15 minutes away from landing.

"Nay," he says. I can smell alcohol on his breath, but at least his speech isn't slurred. "But close enough, gar har har!"

"What've you done with the real Garm, huh?"

"Stow it, lad," Garm scowls, shoving me lightly. "You heard the cap'n."

The captain shut off access to alcohol a little while back. The crew needs to be at least a little sober, since this town will put up more of a fight than the small village we attacked before. Everyone's buzzed, but not completely wasted.

The captain rouses the men with a brief speech that I barely notice. I'm steeling myself for the horrors to come.

Okay, final check. Items?

 **Hush 50/50** (E): _Inexpensive, but low in power.  
Rank: E, Mt: 4, Hit: 100, Crit: 0, Rng: 2, Eff: Pegasi_

A forged bronze bow. I couldn't ask for anything better. Also, hah! You can't hide your weapon names from me, Roll!

 **Kara** : _A steel bracelet. No effect, but offers memories of a past life. Your starting gift._

 **Estus Flask** _ **5/5**_ : _A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest._

 **Heal 6/30** : _Restores an adjacent ally's HP.  
Rank: E, Rng: 1_

Items are a go. Now that I actually have a weapon, my combat stats have appeared.

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 3. EXP: 55.  
HP: 19/19

Atk: 7  
Hit: 105  
Crit: 1  
Avo: 9

They're acceptable. On the upside, my weapon rank for staves is D, now that I've used Heal 15 times.

It looks like our raid style is mostly unchanged. We drop anchor offshore, and use row-boats to approach from a distance. The _Raven_ itself will wait a while before drawing closer to the town.

I'm sitting in the same row-boat as Garm. There's a sense of anticipation as we draw close to the town, oars paddling quietly. Even this late at night, there are people on the coast of Loa, visible with the illumination of stray torches stuck into the sandy shore. Civilians?

We're barely 100 feet away when a horn suddenly blares out from the town. I look up, startled, for the source of the noise. There's a wooden sentry tower overlooking the coast. We've been spotted. We've probably been recognized as pirates, too. Who else would approach a town in the dead of night with row-boats?

Noise erupts around me as the crew begins rowing furiously to cover the last stretch of distance between us and the town. I'll give the team credit. They don't panic, and they control their rowing to make sure we move in a straight line. When we draw close enough, the crew seems to act on an unspoken signal and hops out into the water, dashing onto the sands and drawing their weapons.

Another horn blares out from the sentry tower. Dozens of pirates roar as they charge onto solid land. There isn't anyone there to stop them yet. I see fleeing civilians knocked out in the opening salvo of our attack. I follow the crew, holding my bronze bow tightly.

500 meters until we enter the town proper. _Don't let us get in_ , I pray. So long as we're all dashing together, we're an easy target. As soon as we disperse into that town and start raiding individual homes, it'll become a hundred times harder to stop us.

I feel a jolt of adrenaline as the people of Loa finally start fighting back. _Already, huh?_ I hear the whiz of arrows, coming forth from rooftops, and a few from behind us.

Behind us? Oh, we passed the sentry tower. Shit. A few of my crewmates glance behind as well, realizing the danger that tower poses. Not a single one of us went to disable it.

"To the town, boys!" I hear the captain's voice as he roars orders. "Roll, take the tower!"

What the – Roll's fighting, too? Right, of course. He's not needed for small raids, but for something of this scale –

I see the quartermaster only by the gleam of moonlight off of his steel-tipped arrows. He can't possibly be trying to shoot the archers on the sentry tower, can he?

Roll hoists his longbow, turns around and takes his stance, even as the rest of us run past him. He looses 2 arrows, one after another, and then runs back to join us without even watching to see if he hit his marks.

The arrows peppering our backs disappear. Goddamn, Roll. I guess that 50 SKL isn't just for show.

I'm breathing hard as I run towards the town. As soon as I get in, I can probably make a break for it and slip away in the chaos. I can't believe I'm risking the fate of the world on a mad dash like this, though.

I let out a high-pitched scream as an arrow whizzes by a foot to my right, but don't let up. The townsfolk must be used to pirate attacks, and probably have shifts of people ready to fight in the night. It's the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for why there are so many of them with bows, peppering us safely from their rooftops with such little notice.

If they had a gated wall, their defense would've been much more effective. Still, it's not over yet. I feel a curious mix of adrenaline, fear and elation as we close with the town. 100 feet… 50 feet…

A handful of men stand with torches and bows and clubs at the entrance of the town, but they break and scatter when the pirates close with them.

"Let 'em have it, boys!" the captain bellows.

And then we're through, and anarchy reigns.

* * *

I run through the shadows of the town, in between stone houses. Torches cast light intermittently through the dark, guiding my way.

"Gragh!"

I stop and hang back, while in front of my eyes, a pair of sailors hack at a wooden door with their axes. I can hear screams from inside the home.

The door shatters and scatters, and the pirates break through. I hear a surprised, "The hell-" from one of them, and see a man inside wielding a mighty broadsword. The townsfolk aren't taking this attack lying down.

When it's clear, I run past the house. I keep on running forward, opposite the direction of the sea, trying to distance myself from the Raven as much as I can. All around me are the sounds of violence as the crew kills and loots.

 _This is a big job_ , I realize. Violence on this scale isn't sustainable. Town defenders are dying, but so are some of the pirates. The crew must be expecting to make some massive profit off of this raid if they're willing to keep fighting. Or they're just crazy.

"Fuck!" I curse as an arrow whizzes past me. Who's shooting at me? In my jeans and white shirt, I shouldn't be easily identifiable as a pirate. I duck past another house and the arrows stop.

I pass by scores of skirmishes. Turning a corner, I see an archer with an arrow nocked standing on a rooftop. He notices me but doesn't target me. I guess this guy doesn't consider me in league with the pirates, seeing as I'm running frantically away from the battle.

"Hey!" he calls. "Bowman with 'em blue pants! Ya can fight from up here!"

I slow down to actually consider it. My priority is survival, but maybe I could help these guys out a little, first. Take a few potshots at the pirates, gain some EXP, and fight the good fight for once. If I'm careful, none of the pirates will realize I turned against them.

 _A chance to make things right_ , Humanity murmurs as it wakes up. _Take it_.

 _A chance to get yourself killed_ , Logic answers. _Don't be stupidly sentimental so close to your victory_. _Just escape_.

I'm hesitating. For some reason, I'm reminded of the prologue to Awakening. The whole reason Chrom asks Robin to join up with him is because Robin does the right thing, and fights against the bandits in Southtown.

 _Bandits at land, pirates at sea._

I'm in a pretty similar situation to Robin, right now.

But… I guess I'm just not as good as person as Robin or Chrom would be.

I shake my head. "I ain't gonna be a part of this. I'm outta here."

The archer curses. "Fuckin' craven. Run, then."

I run.

I almost freeze when I turn the next corner and see Garm hammering at the door of a run-down building. It doesn't look like a home, but there are definitely people inside.

How the hell did Garm get so deep into the town already? I've been avoiding combat completely and running like a madman, and I barely made it here.

"Bitch!" Garm roars. "Takin' _my_ axe? I'll fuckin' kill ya!"

Holy hell he's in a berserker rage and _shit_ he just noticed me –

"Swabbie!" he bellows. "C'mere, now! We're takin' down the fuckin' door!"

 _Fuck!_ I should've stayed with the archer. In his current mood, if Garm gets through that door he's going to kill everyone inside.

"Leave us be!" a feminine voice pleads through the door. I'm glad to see that, even if the rest of the building looks worn, the door looks sturdy. "Please, we have nothing for you to pillage. This is a simple-"

"Shut yer mouth, whore!" Garm's shoulder slams into the door again and again. Blood is running down his leg and side. Someone actually managed to injure him? I notice there's an arrow sticking out of his side, too. "Should'a thought of that 'fore you took my axe!"

I check Garm's health.

 **Garm**  
 **Berserker**

LV: 8. EXP: -.  
HP: 33/72

He's taken a lot of damage. I wonder if his fury is the result of his Wrath skill activating. I don't think it's a good idea to heal him just to remove the buff, though.

"That's because you-" The woman on the other side of the door cuts off as Garm delivers a particularly mighty blow with his shoulder. She must be strong to keep the door shut against Garm. "Please, the children…!"

"Swabbie, the fuck you doin'?" Garm asks, gesturing sharply for me to hurry up and help him.

Oh gods. I really, really don't want to be in this kind of situation. Garm's crazy, and the woman on the other side of that door just mentioned children.

I should've just run and pretended I was busy. It's a bit too late for that now. Do I cover my own ass, or help the woman who's probably looking out for a bunch of kids? I'm sure there's a third option somewhere, but events are moving too fast and I can't think well enough under this pressure.

Maybe I can just straight-up run? The crew hates traitors, so Garm will probably forget about the woman and hunt me down. The only problem is he's way faster and stronger than me. He'll kill me for sure.

 _Garm's stronger_ , Logic says. _Help the stronger one, and survive._

 _If you help Garm, we're dead to each other_ , Humanity says flatly.

 _This isn't any worse than Rena_ , Logic says.

 _Objectively? No_ , Humanity agrees. _But this time_ you're _going to be pushing on the door. You'll actively be a part of what kills that woman_. _Can you do that?_

 _Yes. We're cowards. We're wretches,_ Logic says. _But the world is still depending on our knowledge. And we run on game mechanics. We'll probably have absurd combat potential if we figure out how to exploit this world. Don't die before that._

 _Can someone like you even save the world?_ Humanity asks doubtfully. _Or will you keep on coming up with excuses to save yourself any time something dangerous happens? For the greater good, of course._

Logic is quiet. I wilfully ignore humanity's last barb. This is just another scar on my conscious. I can deal with it.

Slowly, I walk to the door. Realistically, this is the last act of evil I'll commit with the pirates. It's _not_ worse than abandoning Rena. So why I do I feel like I'm making a terrible mistake?

If I could just have a few minutes to sit down and think…!

"On 3," Garm says, oblivious to my moral dilemma. "3… 2… 1… NOW!"

The animal fury in Garm's voice hits me on an instinctual level, and adrenaline fuels my shoulder ram where I meant only to put in a token effort.

The door bursts open, and I hear a startled cry as whoever was holding the door against us falls back.

"Time t' pay, bitch," Garm growls, stalking in behind me and closing the door.

I stoop down and quickly pick up Garm's axe before I take in the scene. There _are_ a bunch of children here, huddled in the corner. And back-pedalling rapidly to shield them is the woman –

Oh. Oh no.

Not a woman. A man.

I close my eyes to double-check, but I already know what I'm going to see. There's no mistaking those robes and that hair.

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 20/43

I just brought an endgame enemy to one of the heroes that could end up saving the world. While he's injured, unarmed and distracted by a bunch of children he's trying to protect.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

 **A/N: Our first potentially game-changing roll! The protagonist got 78/100 during the dash-to-the-town scene (where 40 or below equals death). The second roll is obviously coming up.**

 **Also, our first Shepherd! 5 seconds of screen-time and he's already protecting little kids. If only I could be so gloriously incandescent...**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: There hasn't been a lot of Dark Souls in this story yet. It'll appear later on, and I hope it'll be significant enough to justify the crossover. Still, as I mentioned before, this story is largely FE-centric.**

 **In other news, I should really stop writing after midnight. Oh well. Thanks for the reviews, follows and favs so far!**

* * *

I need to think fast. Okay, summary of options: abandon Libra, help Garm kill Libra, or help Libra kill Garm.

 _Don't forget diplomacy_ , Humanity says. _Low-cost to try, and failure doesn't lock-off those other 3 options._

Logic is trying to analyze the first 3 options in the background of my mind. Unfortunately, Logic and Humanity are just labels I've created to understand my own thought-processes. They aren't actually capable of parallel-processing.

Garm steps past me and holds out his hand, eyes locked onto Libra.

 _He wants his axe_. I can't spare the time to label whichever part of my mind said that. _Delay_. _We need time to figure out what we're doing_.

"Oi, oi," I say lightly, not relinquishing Garm's weapon. It's a killer axe. "Didn't think you were into that kinda thing, Garm."

Garm's expression when he turns around could perhaps best be summarized as _what the hell are you saying, and why don't I have my axe yet?_

C'mon, just take the conversational bait. I close my eyes under the guise of exasperation and examine Libra's stats as quickly as I can, even as I speak.

"We all know whatcha mean when you say someone's gotta 'pay', but… y'know that's a man, eh Garm?"

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 20/43

Str: 17  
Mag: 18  
Skill: 15  
Spd: 16  
Lck: 13  
Def: 13  
Res: 19

Damnit. Libra's stronger than his in-game self, but even a critical hit won't 1-shot Garm. So much for just tossing Libra the axe and praying. I can't rely on the surprise factor alone.

When I open my eyes, Garm's looking at Libra incredulously. Libra, for his part, is recovering his breath from our forceful break-in.

"He speaks the truth," Libra says after a moment, eyes flickering warily between myself and Garm. Behind him, there's a group of 7 children, sniffling quietly. The oldest is probably no more than 8 years old.

I eye Garm's neck. Can I behead him with this axe from behind? I know in terms of game mechanics, I shouldn't be able to deal damage to him, nor should I be able to wield axes. But what else could happen if I swung an axe at Garm's neck? Wouldn't he _have_ to die?

 _No_ , Logic says. _We were stupid and didn't test combat mechanics before. It's too risky, now. For all we know, it'll bounce off his skin. If we can heal people from near-death in this world with heal-staffs, then clearly the laws of Earth don't apply here._

A part of my mind whispers that I should've tested my combat capabilities back in our first raid, since the islanders would've died regardless. I shut those thoughts out firmly. An understanding of my combat abilities would be invaluable to save Libra now, but I don't have time for what-ifs.

Okay, so a surprise attack from _me_ is ruled out.

"Bullshit," Garm says, clearly not believing me. His eyes narrow at Libra. "Yer a _man_?"

"I am," Libra says.

"A man of the cloth, Garm," I say.

"Still took m'axe," Garm growls. "Still hit me. Still gonna die!"

Garm clenches his fist, clearly signaling me to pass him the killer axe. I think I can attempt diplomacy once more without appearing heavily suspicious.

I blow out a breath and try to sound incredulous. "You crazy, mate? Yer gonna kill a priest of Naga when he's guardin' a buncha kids? You _tryin'_ to get the crew cursed?"

Garm looks at me, brows bunched together. I shake my head in feigned exasperation, thinking furiously all the while.

 _We're more valuable than Libra_ , Logic says. _If talking fails, we take priority over him. The question is whether or not we want to risk our life for a chance of the_ ideal _result, where we both live._

"Shit man, he ain't even attackin' us," I say, gesturing towards the unarmed Libra. The war monk's eyes brighten with a tentative hope as I speak. "I don't want Naga pissed at us."

 _If we don't help Libra now, then when_ will _we help?_ Humanity muses. _The enemy is unarmed, weakened, and has his back to us. We're weak, but no situation will be perfect._

The stakes are my life. My life outweighs Libra's, but I also have a possibly safety net in the Darksign penalty.

 _We have no idea if the Darksign will be useful,_ Logic says. _We have no information, no percentages to work with._ _It's a complete gamble._

 _The stakes are acceptable_ , Humanity says. _In the worst-case scenario of defeat, we can just consider this a test of the Darksign's mechanics._

I don't have much more time to think. If I'm going to help Libra, what's the safest way to go about it?

I'm relieved when Garm barks out a laugh. It's a lot better than him getting impatient with me. "Har! Ain't no gods ever stopped us 'fore, swabbie," he says.

I fake surprise. "What, you've done in priests before?" I surreptitiously loosen my arrow bag.

"Aye," Garm says, leering at Libra. "And-"

As Garm's gaze breaks away from mine, I heft the axe slightly and gesture at Libra with a tossing motion. I point a finger at him, pantomime slashing with a jerk of my wrist, and then indicate Garm with a thumb.

"… a whole bunch o' 'em, back when-"

Libra's eyes widen. Damnit, man, don't be so obvious. Fortunately, Garm seems to interpret Libra's reaction as being to _his_ words.

I hope Libra understands what I'm trying to say.

"… so yer gonna have to get used to it," Garm finishes.

"Are you sure about this?" Libra asks softly. His eyes are on Garm, but I'm pretty sure his question was directed towards me.

"You block yer ears, priest?" Garm gives a savage grin, holding his hand out for his axe without looking at me. I give Libra a subtle thumbs up, and he nods slowly.

"We have nothing for you to steal," Libra insists, and even as he distracts Garm with meaningless dialogue I run through my options one last time. Should I give the axe to Libra or try to use it for myself?

 _Libra can't act without his axe. I can_.

I can't delay anymore. I've got to make my move.

I give as little warning as possible. I draw an arrow from the bag on my belt and toss Libra the killer axe. I try to be accurate, but I'm not watching to see if Libra catches it on the first try. Gripping the arrow like I'm about to throw it overhand, I jam it into the back of Garm's neck. Or try to, at least. The arrow shaft breaks off, and the arrowhead barely penetrates.

"Gargh!" Garm stumbles, but he's quick enough to realize what just happened. "YOU-" he roars and pivots with a vicious backhand.

Exactly as I predicted. Garm fights with his fists, not his legs. I'm ducking and stepping back even before he starts attacking. Yet somehow, his fist still clips my forehead.

It hurts. _Stats_ , some part of my brain says weakly. _Stats, our avoid isn't high enough, it doesn't matter that he should've missed, something happened and he hit us_ anyway _-_

As I reel from the blow, my eyes close involuntarily and I manage to catch a glimpse of my own character page.

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 3. EXP: 55.  
HP: 8/19

I'm too out of it to actually process the numbers. Distantly, I can hear the children behind Libra screaming. No, forget about that. I know that even 1 more hit will mean death.

He's too strong. Did I make a mistake?

I stagger and prepare myself to jump and roll backwards to buy myself a second. My vision shakes, but I see Garm winding up for a direct punch. I flinch when I catch his expression.

If his rage was a fire when he was hammering at Libra's door, it's a supernova now.

"-FUCKIN' BACKSTABBIN'-!"

And then Libra swings and slashes Garm with his own axe.

Garm bellows in a mix of pain and rage, and with a fluid spin his charged-up punch hits Libra full on in the face before he can dodge.

"Ah!" Libra falls back, clutching his face. I run past Garm, making sure he can't trap me between himself and the walls of this room. As I move, I close my eyes. Even my thoughts are shaky.

 _Staff – Heal_.

In my belt buckle, my nearly dead healing staff thrums. I hear Libra gasping, and I focus my mind's eye on his location until his character page pops up.

My eyes snap open and before I know it, my staff is in my hand, arcing skyward with almost familiar motions. There's a green glow, and I don't need to see Libra's character page to know that it worked.

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 21/43

He had 20 HP before, and he's now at 21. I heal 8 HP, which means Garm did 7 damage, which means his strength is probably being halved in damage calculations. Probably because he has no weapon.

 _We can do this!_

 **Garm  
Berserker**

LV: 8. EX: -.  
HP: 26/72

Libra glances at me with surprise clear on his face, probably because he didn't expect the healing spell. I've adjusted my positioning to stand a bit behind him. The children behind Libra flinch away from me, but I pay them no attention.

Across from us, Garm is still guarding the door and cursing violently.

"Fuckin' whoreson," he swears. "Roll was wrong 'bout ya, yer just a filthy-"

As he speaks, he reaches around to the nape of his neck and pulls out the arrowhead that was shallowly lodged there. I use the time to close my eyes and drink Estus. I'm glad to see that a single sip restores me to a full 19 HP. There's a few exclamations of surprise from the children near me, likely because the flask appeared from nowhere.

Garm can kill me in 2 hits with his fists. He didn't get off a double attack last time, but I'm not sure if that was because I landed a surprise attack or because Libra intervened. Hell, I'm not even sure if doubling is a thing in this world.

I prepare myself to spam heal Libra, but Garm seems to sense my intentions. He charges Libra as soon as he's able to with nothing but his fists. Libra brandishes his axe, trying to space himself from Garm. The children behind him scatter.

Garm gets in the first hit this time, punching Libra firmly in the gut. With an _oof_ , Libra pulls back and manages to get a slash in on Garm. I should be safe for a few seconds, so I close my eyes again.

 _Staff – Heal._

My eyes snap open as I complete another heal spell on Libra. In the time it took me to cast, Garm got in a furious swipe on Libra's face. The monk's nose is bleeding profusely now.

The two stagger apart.

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 15/43

 **Garm  
Berserker**

LV: 8. EX: -.  
HP: 19/72

"Please," Libra pants, his voice distorted by his broken nose. "This is madness. Why are you fighting an axe-man while unarmed?"

"Don' need an axe to kill ya," Garm growls back. He's panting heavily, too, blood shining on his chest from his wounds.

My eyes are flickering open intermittently to make sure I'm not being charged by Garm. Every second the two spend recovering is another second I can use to prepare heals for Libra.

 _Staff – Heal_. My healing staff thrums, ready to be used again.

"You fuckin' maggot," Garm snarls. "Were ye lyin' the whole time ye were with us?"

"No," I lie, hoping to prompt Garm into talking and wasting more time. I cast heal again.

"That's enough," Libra says, sighing as my spell washes over him and raises his HP to 23. There's a faint pinging sound going off in my head. "There does not need to be any more bloodshed here today. Please, just leave us be."

I close my eyes.

 _Level up!_

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 4. EXP: 6.  
HP: 19/20 (+1)

Str: 4 (+1)  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 3  
Spd: 7 (+1)  
Lck: 5 (+1)  
Def: 10 (+1)  
Res: 9 (+1)

An excellent level-up, but it's still only 1 level. Against a promoted enemy like Garm, it's almost worthless. I open my eyes quickly.

"Har, so ye'd rather I kill some other folks, then?" Garm grins, and Libra's face tightens. Garm's expression changes to an angry scowl. "I'll tell ye what. Get outta my way, and I'll leave ye and the brats be."

"Out of your way?" Libra asks quizzically, before he catches sight of my expression. "Ah. What, may I ask, will you do if I 'get out your way'?"

Garm's glare at me could probably melt steel. "Ain't yer business."

With a shudder, I remember the pirate's accord that I signed when I joined up with the crew. "There's only 1 fate for traitors," I murmur, and Libra nods slowly.

 _Now look what you've gotten yourself into, dumbass_ , Logic laments.

 _Trust in Libra_. _He won't abandon us,_ Humanity says. _He's not an amoral prick like us._

Humanity is right.

"He acted to protect these children," Libra says earnestly, gesturing to me. "Such a decision after a life of crime… surely, Naga would not wish to see such kindness punished."

Whoa now, life of crime? I was with the pirates for like a week!

Garm spits.

"Naga gives second chances to all men," Libra continues, imploring Garm. "I don't know why you've turned to piracy, but a man of your incredible strength could-"

"Fer fuck's sake," Garm says. "Jus' shut it. If ye won't stand aside, I'll kill ye both!"

I can see Garm working himself into a rage again. He meets my eyes, and says, "Death's too good fer ya, but I'll make do!"

Well, round 2 of negotiations is a failure. Damn, I knew I should've prepared another heal for Libra instead of monitoring the conversation.

Garm charges, but Libra steps in front of me smoothly. C'mon, get a critical!

"To the locker with ye!" Garm roars, eyes flashing. Faintly, I think I can hear a _sshing!_

Wait wait wait, did Garm just –

The next few seconds are chaos. Libra back-steps, but Garm gets inside his guard and executes a brutal barrage of hits. A punch in the face mangles Libra nose even further. There's a sideways chop, and Libra gives a cry of pain as I hear something in his arm crack.

"AHH!" he screams, and I flinch at the sound of the monk's voice.

Libra manages to get in a hit with his axe, but he's driven back, and I need to interrupt my heal spell. If I cast it, I'll be unaware of myself for a few crucial seconds, and Garm will probably knock me out.

Gods damn it all, when I said "get a critical", I meant for Libra to get it, not Garm! This must be Garm's wrath ability kicking in.

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 2/43

 **Garm  
Berserker**

LV: 8. EX: -.  
HP: 12/72

Son of a _bitch_ , what do I do? Garm hesitates for a second and checks his bleeding wounds, before he seems to write them off, looking instead between me and Libra. He seems to designate Libra as the greater threat, and with another roar, he charges.

Libra has been driven to a knee. His axe-hand is bent awkwardly, and blood runs down his face and over his robes. His eyes are glazed, and his breathing is uneven.

My brain whirs as my eyes flicker to the now unguarded door. Most of the younger children have already fled in the chaos of our fight, and I… I did what I could, didn't I? I tried to be the good guy. Garm's just too strong, though. I should cut my losses and –

"Get away from Uncle Libra!"

The oldest of the children Libra was guarding hasn't fled yet. He rushes to defend the monk.

 _What the hell are you doing, kid?!_

Garm barely breaks stride, hefting the child, spinning, and tossing him violently into a wall. The boy gives out a cry of pain, and I can see Libra jerk suddenly at the sound.

Gods damnit! _What do I do?!_

 _You're panicking!_ Logic says. _Heal Libra, fight or run! Don't just stand there!_

Garm's charging at Libra. If I'd just kept my cool and healed Libra without hesitating, I wouldn't be in this position. Well, no more hesitation.

As Garm moves in to kick and probably kill Libra, I tackle him from the side with a high-pitched scream. The burly man is barely fazed, but before he can grab me, I grasp at an arrow protruding from his side and jostle it violently, snapping off the shaft.

It didn't distract the Berserker nearly as much as I'd hoped. Garm's elbow crashes onto my head from above, and I fall to the ground with a cry, vision spinning. I can barely make him out as he stands above me.

 _Sshing!_

Oh, right. He has Wrath active right now. Against me with my low stats, he probably has an incredibly high critical rate.

Fuck. What a way to go.

" _Repent, sinner!_ "

Blood washes over my face. I… what?

I look up in a daze. Garm's still standing over me, but there's something that shouldn't be there. The tip of an axe protrudes from his chest.

Oh. It was Libra's critical this time, not Garm's.

The axe is withdrawn. Garm falls to a knee. I can see Libra standing behind him, panting for a few seconds before he collapses.

Garm's face is right in front of me, close enough for me to smell his breath. His blood is everywhere. His eyes are hazy, but they lock onto my own.

"…" His mouth moves, but I can't make out what he says.

Slowly, Garm raises a hand. I should get away, but I can't move. I'm frozen. If he wants to kill me, even in his dying breaths, I think he could.

The Berserker gives me a faint grin as his hand falls onto my shoulder. He gives me 2 hard thumps on my shoulder, as if it were just another day aboard the _Raven_.

Then he collapses, too.

It's silent. The 8-year-old boy is quiet, lying unconscious against the wall. The other children are gone. Garm is at my feet. Libra is lying next to him in a small pool of blood.

Slowly, like an old lawn-mower, my brain sputters back to life. I stand up, and close my eyes.

 **Ess'ai**  
 **Outrealmer**

LV: 4. EXP: 6.  
HP: 9/20

 _ **Garm  
Berserker**_

 _LV: 8. EX: -.  
HP: 0/72_

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 4. EX: -.  
HP: 1/44

I feel numb, but I have enough presence of mind for this.

 _Staff – Heal. Staff – Heal._

Libra's HP increases to 17. I check on the young child that Garm tossed into a wall. Blood drips from the side of his head, but he's alive, somehow.

 **Noah  
Villager**

LV: 2. EX: -  
HP: 1/11

How did he survive? I'm pretty sure Garm's attack value was 20 when fighting with his fists, and scanning the boy's stats doesn't provide me with any clues. His defense is 3. Perhaps game mechanics don't fully apply to people who aren't me. Or perhaps there are other factors that affect hand-to-hand combat damage calculations.

Oh, wait. Skills. The boy has 2 standard Awakening skills: aptitude and miracle. Perhaps miracle triggered for him.

I shake my head forcefully. Priorities. I cast my last heal spell on the boy. The small gem on the tip of my staff dulls, leaving me with an ordinary staff of wood.

I feel a little better when I take another sip of Estus. I'm really glad I didn't use it up as a source of food earlier in the day.

Then I sit down against a wall, and everything starts to sink in. I almost died. Libra almost died. Garm actually died.

And… his blood is still on my face. Garm's blood, which washed over me when Libra struck the fatal blow. My breath quickens. I've been through a decent amount of mental trauma, but something about having a dead man's blood on me is just too much for me to handle.

He was just alive, a few minutes ago. But now, because of my actions…

My breathing becomes more erratic when I look at Garm's corpse again. I have to close my eyes to yell at myself to calm down. It doesn't help.

Libra stirs as I'm having my private panic attack.

"Gods," he groans, sitting up blearily. "What a terrible dream…"

Then he takes a look at himself. Specifically, his blood-drenched robes. I see him taking in his surroundings. Garm's body is cooling next to him. Noah, the young boy who jumped in to save Libra, is still unconscious, although no longer in critical condition. And me, well -

"Oh god," I whisper, wiping my face with my sleeve. Only my sleeve is bloodied, too. It's smearing the blood into my face, making it worse. And my knowledge of biology isn't helping. My skin must be permeable to some parts of his blood. What if I'm taking into me? I'm making it worse by touching it but I've got to get it _off_ -

 _Calm down!_ Logic snaps. I'm hyperventilating anyway.

 _Get it off, get it off, get it off…!_

I jerk wildly when I feel an arm on my shoulder. It's Libra. He says nothing. His face is bleeding, too, but it's from his own blood, dripping from his nose.

Slowly, he puts his uninjured hand inside his robe. When he pulls it out, he has a brown handkerchief. Kneeling next to me, he dabs at my face, surprisingly gentle.

"It's gone now," he says quietly, after a minute.

I'd really like to act cool or competent around Libra, but I can't help it. I start to cry.

* * *

It takes several minutes for me to pull myself together. When I do, I feel a lot lighter.

"I'm sorry," I say to Libra as he checks over Noah. "Here I am, breaking down, and you're the one that's seriously injured."

Libra seems to be happy with what he finds in his check-up of the boy, because he turns to me with a faint smile.

"Not at all," he says humbly. "Blood isn't an easy thing to deal with, even for experienced healers."

Perhaps not, but I'm still a little ashamed at myself for falling apart. What's the point of living a great, steady life in a developed country for so many years if it doesn't give me emotional stability when it matters?

 _There's so many things wrong with that thought that I'm not even going to bother_ , Logic says.

 _A bit of angsting was called for, given the situation_ , Humanity remarks. _And you did it_ after _healing Libra and the child, so it's okay._ _Plus, you've pulled yourself together_ now _._

Libra's looking at me. Oh right, I spaced out in the middle of a conversation. I take a second to recall what he just said.

"Well," I say wryly. "I take it you can tell I'm not very experienced, then."

"Indeed," Libra says, and I can see the laughter hidden behind his straight face.

"Well, I only started using staves a couple of days ago," I say defensively, and Libra's eyebrows rise.

"Truly?" he says, sounding surprised. "That'd certainly explain it." He stands up and dusts off his bloodied robes. "But we're speaking out of order."

He extends his uninjured hand out to me.

"My name is Libra," he says. "I'm a priest hailing from Ylisse. I know it can't have been easy for you, but thank you for helping us. You healed me after I fell unconscious, didn't you?"

I take his hand. "Ess'ai," I say. "Yeah, that was me, and no thanks are needed. I shouldn't have helped him open your door to begin with."

Libra shakes his head as we break our handshake. "You did the right thing in the end, but we can discuss details afterwards. For now, did you perhaps see where the other children ran off to?"

"No," I admit. "I lost track of pretty much everything during that fight."

Libra nods. "Then I'll go out to find them."

"I don't think the raid is over yet," I warn him. "From what I remember, there's supposed to be some kind of signal that we can't miss, telling the crew when to return to our ship."

"All the more reason for me to act quickly," Libra says, walking towards the door. Then he pauses and looks back at me. "… What will you do? Will you return to your ship when the time comes?"

I shake my head. "No," I say, not elaborating.

Libra doesn't press me further. "I see," he says. "I'll be directing the children back here. I'd hate to impose on you further, but do you think you could…?"

He trails off and gestures lightly at Garm. Ah, I see.

"Yeah," I say. "I've got it."

Libra opens his mouth to say something, but I wave it off. "It's okay, I've got my head in the game now. Go, quickly."

Libra nods and leaves without any further fuss. It hits me a moment later that he's showing me a lot of trust by leaving Noah in my care.

I sigh as I move to Garm's corpse, gagging at the scent of death and rust. I'm going to have to drag him, leaving behind smears of blood on the floor, but it's better than having an honest-to-goodness corpse here when the children return.

If I had some water and my faithful mop, I'd be able to clean a lot better. But I guess that life is behind me now. I'll make do without.

* * *

It's probably about 20 minutes before Noah finally wakes up. I hear a whimper from his general location, but when I look at him, his eyes are closed.

An eye peeks open, and then abruptly shuts when he sees me looking at him. I probably make for a scary sight. I'm standing on guard at the door, Roll's bow in my hand, and my white shirt is caked with dried blood.

"Libra will be back soon," I say simply, reciting the words I'd been planning for this moment. "I'm not going to hurt you, and the other scary man is gone for good."

The boy sits up slowly, all pretense of being unconscious forgotten. He doesn't speak, but eyes me warily.

I say nothing more, splitting my attention between watching for Libra and making sure Noah doesn't do anything stupid.

Another half-hour passes. The sounds of battle aren't very audible from inside this building, as we're at the other end of town, far from the _Raven_.

I grow a little worried as time passes and Libra doesn't return. I should've asked him if he had a staff for me to heal him with before he set out. Will he even be able to wield Garm's axe as he is?

A horn blares loudly in the distance, three times in succession. That must be to signal the end of the raid.

Libra appears an hour later. He's just as bloodied as he was before, but it doesn't look like he's sustained any new injuries. Better yet, he's leading a bunch of children. Most of them are sniffling or crying, but while they all look scared, they're unharmed.

"You made it back," I say, relieved. "Thank-"

I cut myself off when I notice his pained expression. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine," Libra says. "But, the children…"

I do a quick headcount. There are 5 kids with Libra, and Noah's with me. There were 7 children originally. Someone's missing. And if Libra came back without them...

... I know what that probably means.

For their part, a lot of the children shy away from me, hiding behind Libra. It's to be expected, I guess. I'm more impressed that they aren't afraid of Libra, even when he's all bloodied up.

Libra shakes his head. "I know it's a little scary, but we're going to sleep here for tonight," he says, addressing the children. "Tomorrow, we'll find Father Bran. Things will be better in the morning, I promise."

I'm silent as I watch Libra reassure the children. He's good at it. There's a bunch of folded rags stashed in the corner of this room that I noticed earlier. Libra takes them and lays them out as a makeshift bed, and the children huddle together to go to sleep.

I keep my distance. The children are all clearly frightened of me. Instead, I step outside and keep watch.

The night sky is still clouded. Torches are lit, and I can hear the lamentations of the townsfolk. I wonder if it was a successful raid.

I wonder, too, what the crew will think when they realize that Garm and I are missing. Most people probably won't notice my disappearance, except for Roll. Garm, on the other hand, was a senior member of the crew. Has the _Raven_ already cast off, or are they waiting for Garm? Will they come back to find him, or write him off as dead?

The wind is surprisingly soft on my skin. I hear footsteps, and Libra joins me outside.

"They're asleep," he says quietly. "The resilience of children never ceases to amaze me."

I nod.

"That horn earlier," Libra says. "Was it…?"

"Yeah," I answer. "The signal for the crew to return to the ship. Their usual game-plan is hit-and run, so there shouldn't be any more danger tonight."

"A small mercy," Libra says. "But a mercy nonetheless. What will you do now?"

"I don't know," I say. Then I frown. "Strike that, actually. I need to get messages to Ylisse. There's important information that some people need to know. Lives may be depending on it."

"I see," Libra says slowly. I get the feeling he's choosing his next words carefully. "I get the impression that you're a good man. If I can ask, why-"

"Was I with the pirates?" I finish, before shaking my head. "It's a bit of a story, but I think it can wait until morning." That should give me time to clarify what I should and shouldn't tell him.

"You're planning on staying here?" Libra says, sounding surprised.

It occurs to me that it might've been pretty presumptuous of me to say that. I assumed that once I met up with a Shepherd, I'd join their party or vice-versa. But reality might not be so convenient.

"Ah," I flounder, "I didn't mean to presume anything. I mean, I'd certainly like to, but I don't have to if you don't want me to. I won't take up any of your food and I don't have to stay in the building, though! It's just that-"

Libra takes a good look at my expression and laughs, so I cut my losses and shut up.

"It's fine," he says, smiling. "I'll speak to the children. And you're right, anything else that needs to be said can wait until morning."

It was a hell of a risk and I was a little too indecisive for my own liking, but I'm glad I didn't abandon Libra in the end. I follow him back inside. I find a corner for myself and fall asleep, sitting down with my back to a wall.

Despite all the horrors of the night, my sleep is untroubled by my usual dark dreams.

* * *

 **A/N: So I decided to make a skill that the protagonist could obtain only by abandoning Libra. Then I made him stick out the fight without even rolling for his decision, lol.**

 **The roll for catching Garm off guard was a success at 85/100 (requirement of 40). I'll remark that losing at this particular roll would've been really,** _ **really**_ **bad. Like, completely story-changing bad.**

 **Crisis averted, though, and a great level to boot. Praise the Sun!**

 **(Side note: Does anyone want me to start rolling on Invisible Castle or something, for transparency's sake? Or does it not really matter to you guys?)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Bit of a delay on this chapter. The next chapter will be similarly delayed (expect maybe 1 update over ~4 weeks). After that, my update rate should normalize.**

 **I'm trying to control chapter length and failing miserably. I'll make future chapters shorter, I swear.**

 **As always, thanks for the feedback, favs, and follows, everyone!**

* * *

When I awaken, Libra and the children are gone. There's a scrap of aged parchment at the door, with minuscule writing on it. It's a little too dark for me to read it, so I open the door to my temporary residence. Light fills the room.

 _Ess'ai,_

 _I'm taking the children to see Father Bran, a priest in the service of Naga, to arrange better housing for them. I decided it would be best to let you sleep and recover from yesterday._

 _I'll be back before sunset. We can speak further then._

 _May Naga watch over you,_

 _Libra_

I walk outside and squint at the bright light. The commotion of a morning town fills the air. The sun hasn't reached its peak yet, and judging by what I've learned from the pirates, it isn't yet noon. I've got a long while before Libra returns.

I take a chug of Estus for breakfast, sighing in relief as the cool liquid soothes my quietly growling stomach. Then I take a walk outside.

My bloodied clothes don't gather too much attention as I stroll through the town, aiming for the coast. I can see the damage left in the wake of my shipmates' attack. A few houses are torched. Doors have been broken in, splotches of blood decorate the occasional wall, and sometimes I find arrows littering the streets. I'm quick to grab the few that I see, but most of them are broken.

Interestingly enough, they show up in my inventory.

 **Iron arrow (3)** : _Supplementary arrows. Restores durability of an equipped "iron bow"._

I guess they're worthless to me, since I can't use iron bows yet. Still, I may as well hoard them, since I'm not doing anything else with my inventory space.

I have 7 item slots instead of 5, likely to account for the fact that my Estus Flask and starting gift lock out 2 slots by default. Even with my bronze bow and these extra arrows, I still have 3 slots left over. My heal staff is nothing more than a staff of wood now. It doesn't even show up in my inventory.

I'm near the coast. I can hear the rush of water when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

"So ya came back, eh, craven?"

My head jerks up in faint recognition of the voice. Standing across from me is a villager with cloth bandages wrapped around his torso. He's holding his hands on his hips. "Thought you'd be long gone by now, pal," he continues.

"Er, do I know you?" I ask, discretely checking the man's character page under the pretense of rubbing my eyes.

 **Noah  
Archer**

LV: 12. EX: -.  
HP: 20/24.

The name seems familiar. Oh, right. The kid that helped distract Garm in our fight last night shares the same name.

This Noah looks like he's in his early 30s. His eyes narrow. "Forgot already? I asked ya to help me fight with that bow of yours last night. Ya ran off like a coward."

Oh, that's right. I remember something like that happening right before I fought alongside Libra.

I shrug. "Sorry. If it makes you feel better, I ended up fighting like 10 minutes later, anyway."

Noah raises an eyebrow. "Tha' right, now?" he asks skeptically.

"Nah," I say, gesturing at my bloodied clothes. "I just decided to dunk my clothes in blood for the hell of it."

"Humph," Noah crosses his arms, but I sense his hostility decreasing. "Ya from around here?"

"No," I say. "And I've gotta say, you guys throw a hell of a welcoming party."

The man scowls. "Ain't the time fer jokes, pal. People are dead."

I raise my hands. "Sorry," I say, continuing my walk to the coastline. Noah falls in step beside me as I continue. "Didn't mean any offense."

"Where you headed now, then, stranger?" Noah probes.

I _tsk_ as I take off my shirt. "To wash out some of the blood from these clothes."

Noah raises an eyebrow. "Gonna do that in the sea, then?"

I shrug. It's not like I have a choice. Noah looks like he's considering saying something, but then he shakes his head. "And after that?" he asks.

I shrug again. "I'm meetin' up with a monk, a… friend, I suppose. I'll probably end up followin' his lead."

Noah says nothing, waiting silently as I scrub my shirt in the cold water. Sea water is pretty bad for cleaning, and I don't have soap, but it's better than nothing.

It's hard to get blood out of clothes. I don't have too much to show for my efforts after the better part of several minutes, though I've discovered that spit helps the process along a little. Honestly, I've probably just worn down my simple white shirt.

The bloodstains seem fainter when I'm done. I think.

I sigh.

There's a sound from behind me. Noah seems to be amused with my lack of progress.

"What?" I snap, a little irritated.

"I'll tell ya what, stranger," Noah says, eyeing my abysmal work with my shirt. "Help me out a bit, and I'll ask my wife to help ya with yer clothes."

"Deal," I say instantly. I catch a brief upturn of Noah's mouth at my quick response. It could almost be called a smile. "Oh, right. My name's Ess'ai."

"Noah," the man answers. I already knew his name, but I nod anyway.

I follow Noah to his home and meet his wife, a demure, petite woman with lilac hair. Her character page identifies her as Rebecca. She doesn't blink at Noah's request to remove the bloodstains from my clothes, instead offering me some replacement clothing made of rather rough cotton.

I don it and get to helping Noah. There's plenty of work to do in light of a pirate raid, work that was neglected last night by tired townsfolk. I'm not the only man Noah recruits, either. Noah barks orders to ferry a whole bunch of products to where they're needed, from planks of wood to buckets of water to bundles of clothes. I spend a good hour helping a carpenter repair some particularly damaged doors.

The worst job of all is probably gathering and cremating the dead. I don't shy away from the work. I came with the crew that killed these townspeople. This is the least I can do.

"Here," a gruff voice interjects. A metal bowl is shoved underneath my nose, emitting a delicious aroma.

"Thanks," I say absently, taking the bowl. My eyes are still on the blazing pyre in the midst of town. Grieving widows watch the flames forlornly. "You didn't have to…"

"Didn't expect ya to help out for so long," Noah admits, sipping from his own bowl. It's a pretty hearty vegetable soup, with small flecks of fish. "Yer clothes have been done for a while."

I know that. It's probably been about 6 hours since I started helping Noah.

I was a vegetarian, back on Earth. I sip at the soup with only the slightest hesitation. "It's easy to work with everyone," I say honestly. "Everyone cooperates, even if they don't know me."

"We've learned," Noah says, voice low. "Ye think this is bad? Should've seen us a few years ago."

"Do these raid happen often, then?" I ask tentatively.

Noah spits. "Aye. Last night was the second one this year."

"Well, do we get any soldiers from the King to help fight off the pirates?" I ask.

Noah barks out a short laugh as an answer.

The rest of my evening is uneventful. I help out some more where I can, and return to Noah's place as the sun begins to fall. Rebecca performs some kind of miracle, as both my jeans and plain white shirt are completely restored when I get them back, with barely a mark of blood upon them.

"Verily," I say to her, completely serious, "thou art a goddess of cleanliness."

She giggles and Noah slaps me on the arm. "Alright," he growls. "Mind how ya talk to my _wife_."

We part amicably. I spend some time trying to find my way back to Libra's orphanage, but I don't really know my way around town too well, so I need to ask for directions.

The sun has nearly set when I find the orphanage again. Libra's standing at the entrance. His robes are blood-free, now, too.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting long," I say as a way of greeting.

"Ah," Libra's head turns at the sound of my voice, and he waves at me. "Ess'ai. You read my note, then?"

I'd like to point out that Libra looks ridiculously pretty when the rays of the setting sun partially illuminate his face.

"I did," I confirm. "Although I'm wondering what you would've done if I couldn't read."

"I was sure you could," Libra says. His voice is gentle and confident. My eyebrow raises at his tone.

"You were sure?" I ask skeptically. A _lot_ of people in this world can't read, from what I've seen so far. "Why's that?"

"Your accent," Libra answers.

Well, now I'm genuinely interested. "I don't follow," I admit.

"Your manner of speaking now is different than it was when we first met," Libra explains, glossing over the fact that we first met when I was fighting alongside pirates. "You're educated, and you were hiding it, right?"

I blink, and Libra smiles. That's right, Libra's canonically really sharp with details. "Or, we could just call it instinct for now and leave it be," he says.

"Right," I say. "So, what's up with the kids?"

Libra's smile turns a bit somber. "I was hoping to discuss that with you, actually. I have a favour to ask."

* * *

"So, there's no chance of them staying here?" I ask.

The sun has set. The wind blows softly, cool on my skin. Distant torches in the town provide faint light.

Libra shakes his head. "Unfortunately, the church of Naga is not well-loved here. We receive supplies intermittently from Ylisse, but with tensions rising between Ylisse and Plegia…"

It turns out that Libra came to this coastal town of Loa with another priest, Father Bran, with the intention of running an orphanage and spreading the word of Naga. Their experiment is effectively a failure. There's no lack of orphans, but almost everyone here worships or pretends to worship Grima. Without any local support in the way of donations, Libra is limited in what he can do.

"Yeah," I say. "I get it. I'm not sure where I come in, though."

"Security," Libra says simply. "Father Bran recommends – and I agree – that the best move now would be to take these children to the town of Galt, a few days due East."

"Few days walking, or by caravan?" I ask.

"By cart," Libra answers.

"Alright. Why Galt?"

"We have a single, well-established church in Galt," Libra says. "I admit it's small, but we have a stable presence there. And these children-"

"Need stability, yeah," I finish. "Um, just so that we've covered all our options, isn't there a local orphanage, perhaps one that's not affiliated with Naga, that you can leave these kids at?"

"No," Libra says, shaking his head regretfully. "That's one of the reasons we chose to try to open one up so far into Plegia. These people spend all of their efforts trying to defend themselves against pirate attacks, or recovering from raids. No one has the time to care for orphaned children."

"Fair enough," I say. "So, when do we leave?"

There's a moment of silence.

"… We'd be leaving tomorrow," Libra says eventually. "Ah, not that I'm complaining, but… well, I'm surprised you're agreeing so easily."

I shrug. It's a no-brainer to me. What better way is there to find the plot than to stick to a Shepherd? My gamer instincts are tingling, too. If the night-time raid of Loa could be considered Chapter 1 of my life here, then I'm sure this escort mission will end up being Chapter 2.

Although that brings up the question of whether or not someone or something is designing a plot for my life right now. I'm tentatively going to assume "yes". If something significant happens tomorrow, then I'll take that as more evidence that my life is being scripted.

"I'm more surprised you're willing to take my help," I retort. "What if I'm only going along with you so I can try to rob you later?"

"You wouldn't have helped me last night if that were the case," Libra points out instantly. "But I suppose it's possible. So, _are_ you going to rob me later?"

"No," I answer honestly.

"Well, then," Libra says with finality. "I guess that takes care of that particular issue."

I laugh, and Libra joins me a second later.

"If I'm going to help you, Libra," I start. "There's something you should probably know."

Libra raises a hand. "You don't need to feel obligated to tell me anything. It's not my business why you were with those pirates to begin with-"

"Not that," I interrupt. "Although I don't mind telling you about that, either. No, I'm talking about my practical value."

Libra looks at me quizzically.

"Um, I don't know any proper way to say this," I say hesitantly. "But if we're attacked, um, I don't really think I can hurt anyone."

"A pacifist?" Libra asks, a strange expression on his face. "… Ah, so the bow is meant to scare bandits away?"

"Not exactly," I say. I think about my next words carefully. "I haven't been able to confirm it, but… well, the easiest way to think about this would be to say that there may be some kind of spell on me."

That gets Libra's attention. His eyes sharpen and his stare is suddenly evaluating.

"I suspect that against certain people, even if I shot them point-blank in the face with an arrow, I'd literally be unable to do damage," I continue. "You might've noticed something like that last night, actually."

"I was wondering," Libra said softly. "You passed me the pirate's axe-"

"Garm," I say. "His name was Garm."

Libra pauses, and there's that evaluating look again.

"… Garm's axe, then," Libra acknowledges.

I wonder if Libra thinks I was trying to make a statement. I wasn't.

"You passed me Garm's axe, but you had a perfect opportunity to use it yourself when you were behind him," Libra says. "At first, I thought you were simply afraid to attack him yourself. He was someone you knew, after all. But then you attacked him with an arrow."

"I think I wouldn't have been able to hurt him with an axe," I explain. "In fact, even with an arrow, I did no damage. That… doesn't make sense, right? I mean, jamming an arrow into someone's neck should lead to more than a passing injury."

"As you say," Libra says slowly. "But it's possible that you pulled your attack on instinct."

"I guess," I admit. "But my point is, if we're attacked by bandits, I might not be able to fight them off."

I'm just too weak. I can only hurt people with 7 defense or less, even with Roll's forged bow.

"How strange," Libra murmurs. I _think_ he's taking my words at face-value, which goes to show you how weird the Fire Emblem world can be. "And your skill at healing? Are there any limits to who you can heal, too?"

"Don't think so. But my healing staff is dead, now," I say, gesturing to the stick of wood looped into my belt. I haven't thrown it away, just in case it has some value. "Used it up last night. I think I can use up to Mend staffs, if that's what they're called-" Libra's expression doesn't change, so I assume I'm right. "-But I don't have my own to use and I know you'd be more efficient than me with any staff we _could_ find."

Libra's gaze alternates between me and the night sky. I let him think it over.

"Yesterday, you mentioned that you started healing a couple of days ago," he says. "Was that correct?"

"Yeah," I say.

"And you believe you can use Mend staffs already," Libra says. I wouldn't call his tone _flat_ , but it's getting there.

I gesture helplessly with my hands. What can I say, that using a Heal staff 15 times automatically makes me eligible for all staffs that are arbitrarily decided to be D-ranked?

"It's related to the whole reason that I can't hurt certain people," I say. "Look, before you got off your first healing spell, did you have to do any preparatory training? Did you have any failed attempts?"

"Yes, to both," Libra says. "Although I was a quick learner."

"I didn't," I say. "A few days ago was the first time I ever touched a heal staff, and I just – I could just _use_ it. I knew I could use it. And I know that right now, I'm capable of using Mend staffs."

"Is that right?" Libra says, more to himself than to me. He mulls on that for a moment, then seemingly comes to a decision.

"In that case," Libra says firmly, "I'm all the more certain I'd like you to accompany us to Galt."

"Huh?" I'm more thrown by his certainty than his decision. "You sure?"

Libra smiles. "I believe you," he says. "And… I do not think our meeting was a coincidence. Perhaps Naga brought us together for a reason."

Relief fills me at Libra's words. It's probably stupid of him to be so trusting, but it's… nice, being on the receiving end of that trust.

I don't think our meeting was coincidence, either, but it's not Naga's hand that I'm suspecting. I'll leave that conversation for another time. It's probably best to let Libra mull on what I've told him so far.

We exchange some small talk, and spend the night in the shelter where we killed Garm. The children are staying elsewhere with Father Bran. We'll meet up in the morning.

I sip the last of my Estus for dinner before lying down. Sleep comes easily during my second night in Loa.

* * *

Libra wakes me before dawn. We have very little to pack, and we're at the edge of town as the sun rises. We don't have to wait long before a clattering of hooves draws my attention. An elderly man sits at the front of a horse-drawn cart, with a group of 9 children inside.

I examine him quickly.

 **Bran  
Priest**

LV: 19. EX: -.  
HP: 29/29.

Str: 8  
Mag: 14  
Skill: 11  
Spd: 12  
Lck: 17  
Def: 8  
Res: 12

His character description is encouraging: _a cheerful priest who seeks to aid the less fortunate._

He's got a weapon rank of B in staves. Hm. This guy must've been pretty strong in his prime, but right now he can't fight. Even if his strength doubles mine, as a priest he's class-locked out of weapons. Assuming that other people are affected by RPG mechanics, and it's not just me.

"Ess'ai?" Libra voice interrupts my thoughts. I open my eyes and gesture at the approaching priest.

"So that's Father Bran, right?" I ask. Libra nods in answer.

I may as well check now. "Hey, Libra," I probe. "How good are you with weapons other than your axe?"

Libra's silent for a bit before he answers, and when he does his voice is quiet. "I could probably get by with a lance if I needed to, but I'm most comfortable with the axe."

I'd like to test his capabilities in a live situation to see if he can still deal numerical damage with other weapons, but it'll have to wait. Something in his tone tells me he doesn't want to talk about this now, so I let it go.

The ground outside of the town is beaten earth. It's not purely sand, which is what I instinctually expected considering I'm in Plegia. I guess the entire country can't be a desert.

Father Bran raises an arm in greeting as he approaches us.

"Ho, travelers!" the elderly man says. I like him already.

There's a faint smile on Libra's lips, but his tone is formal. "Greetings, Father Bran. I believe introductions are in order."

"No need," the man says, waving an arm as he looks at me. "You're Ess'ai, the guard that Libra picked up, and I'm Bran. Come on, then, let's get moving!"

Libra has a long-suffering expression on his face, and he looks like he wants to say something but he's stopping himself. I don't see the problem. Efficiency is good.

"Sounds good," I say, preparing to board the cart with Libra. Some of the children seem to recognize me from the night with Garm. They don't make eye contact with me.

With a subtle thumb jab at the kids, I speak quietly to Bran. "Is that going to be an issue?"

"It's fine," he says back, just as quietly. "I've spoken to them, and you'll do more good than harm here, I think."

I board the cart after Libra. I allow Libra to sit closer to the children, so that there's a barrier between the kids and myself. I don't have much wiggle room, but I'm not uncomfortably cramped on the cart, either.

"We're off," Father Bran announces, flicking his reins from his position at the front of the cart. The horse, a deep chestnut beauty, takes us slowly away from the town of Loa.

I can't help but look back. I didn't say goodbye to Noah, nor did I get to see the progress made on the town's recovery efforts. I didn't say goodbye to the dead townsfolk or Garm's corpse. I'm just… moving on.

* * *

The children are quiet for all of an hour before a young boy, one of the children who didn't see me with Garm, starts to speak to Libra about something inane.

It's another hour before the children seem to relax around me and ignore my presence. I guess Libra's more popular than I am intimidating.

The kids really seem to love Libra. One of the older girls, a quiet 7 year-old, insists on braiding his hair. She does a good job. Libra undergoes his make-over with patient affection.

We meet our first travelers sharing the road with us by the third hour of our trip. There are 3 men, travelling on foot towards Loa with packs on their back. I point them out as soon as I see them.

"Heads up," I say quietly, grasping my bow. The children, who were talking animatedly with Libra, fall quiet instantly.

"I see them," Father Bran says back. He nods amiably at the men as they approach, slowing down as they raise their hands in greeting. My eyes are already closed as I scout out their stats.

They're all villager class. No one is close to Libra's level of strength, the oldest among them having stats similar to Bran. I feel my shoulders relax.

I seem to be able to view character pages from quite a distance. Based on prior experimentation and today, I think I'm only limited by line-of-sight. It's good to know.

"Hail!" the foremost man says as we close with them. "Any news from Loa?"

I let Bran do the talking while I evaluate the men. The one that's speaking with Bran looks to be in his mid-30s. The others are younger. The youngest of them gives me a bad vibe. He looks plain enough, with simple brown hair and rough cotton clothes, but his eyes are constantly flickering over our cart.

The older man seems suitably shocked by news of another pirate raid. I glance around occasionally to make sure no one's approaching from another direction while we're stopped.

"-you know if Sara's safe?" I tune in as it looks like the conversation is drawing to a close. The man looks like he's in a hurry to be gone.

Father Bran shakes his head. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with her. Sorry. You'd have to check yourself."

The man nods. "Thank you," he says simply, hoisting his pack again.

Bran nods back. "May Naga watch over you," he replies. The travelers don't respond in kind, but that's probably because they don't believe in Naga.

I turn in the cart to keep my eyes on the men even as they disappear into the distance.

"You can stop tracking them now," Libra points out, sounding amused. "They're simple travelers, not bandits."

"It's my job to be a visual deterrent and that's exactly what I'm going to do," I answer firmly, keeping my hands on my bow.

Libra smiles as if he's laughing at a private joke.

"What?" I ask. "What's with that expression?"

Libra waves it off. "Nothing," he says, his innocent tone giving me the feeling that I just failed a perception check. I lean in to him a bit.

"Seriously," I say quietly, so the kids won't overhear. "I didn't like the look of the youngest guy. He had calculating eyes. I feel like he was gauging his chances with us."

Libra's eyes flicker to the children to make sure they can't hear us. "I noticed," he murmurs. "But his companions seemed like the honourable sort. I don't think anything would have come of it."

I can see why Libra wanted me along, now. Bran's an old man, and despite his serious skill Libra looks like a woman. If we run into more unsavory folk, they'll see easy targets. It's all about perception.

"Someone's got to be the cautious one," I say. "It could've been an act. Pretending to be decent folks so they get a few seconds advantage when they attack."

"Bandits aren't that subtle," Libra says.

I have to suppress the urge to scoff. Everyone in this world is a living, thinking human being. Pretending to be harmless and then jumping someone is one of the oldest, most instinctive tricks in the book, one that I'm sure bandits use regularly. This isn't a fairy-tale world where bandits are stupid just because they're considered "bad".

* * *

As the sun begins to fall, I learn that I was wrong. Libra's been in this world for longer than me, so I should've taken his word for it.

Bandits aren't subtle. Not at all.

As we travel the beaten path to Galt, I notice a large group of men approaching us straight-on. As soon as they catch sight of us, they start dashing towards us.

They're far away, but I can check their character pages from a distance. There's an archer, two myrmidons, and two barbarians.

That's not what bothers me. I check the character description of one of the barbarians.

 **Glen** – _A fierce bandit who loathes the Valmese._ **  
Barbarian**

LV: 7. EX: -.  
HP: 39/39

The others aren't much better.

"Bandits ahead, I'm 100% certain!" I hiss to Libra and Bran as I open my eyes. "Can we escape?"

Bran's eyes flick upwards in alarm, and he squints off into the distance. "You're sure? They could just be-"

"100% certain," I repeat. "Please _trust_ me."

Libra takes one glance at my expression and immediately starts rifling through his bags, pulling out his axe. "Any ideas?" I ask him urgently.

One of the older children must understand what's happening, because he starts to cry. Some of the younger kids start crying, too, probably picking up on the sudden change in mood. Shit, maybe I should've just whispered to Bran and Libra. No, we don't have time to worry about tears now. The bandits are on foot and they'll probably reach us in a minute if we keep on travelling towards each other.

Wait a second, should I be deferring to Libra? He's the strongest out of us, but my power gives me access to more information.

"Father Bran, can we outrun them with this cart?" Libra crouches next to Bran on the opposite side of me.

"Ah, we may be able to match their speed," Bran says. "But not for long."

We're travelling towards the bandits, and they're coming towards us. That's not good.

"Turn," I say, pointing Bran off to the right. "If they want us, they've got to chase us."

To his credit, he steers his horse away immediately. It's either that or try to run straight past them at an angle, which might be risky with an enemy archer.

I'm examining their stats as quickly as I can.

 **Glen  
Barbarian**

LV: 7. EX: -.  
HP: 39/39

Str: 17  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 9  
Spd: 13  
Lck: 7  
Def: 5  
Res: 1

He's equipped with a steel axe, weapon rank A and the Gamble skill _at level 7_. What the fuck, is this Lunatic mode?

 **Serran  
Barbarian**

LV: 1. EX: -.  
HP: 30/30

Str: 11  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 5  
Spd: 9  
Lck: 5  
Def: 1  
Res: 0

The weaker barbarian has an iron axe and weapon rank A at level 1. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm on Lunatic. There's a hell of a level disparity between Serran and Glen, though. I quickly scan the 3 remaining bandits.

 **Will  
Myrmidon**

LV: 5. EX: -.  
HP: 31/31

Str: 12  
Mag: 1  
Skill: 16  
Spd: 17  
Lck: 12  
Def: 4  
Res: 4

Steel sword, weapon rank A, no skills. The second myrmidon, Bill, has the _exact_ same stats. Twins, perhaps?

 **Falmer  
Archer**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 31/31

Str: 11  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 15  
Spd: 11  
Lck: 7  
Def: 4  
Res: 2

Steel bow, weapon rank A, prescience skill.

"Perhaps they can be reasoned with," Libra suggests half-heartedly as I open my eyes.

"I don't know…" I say. Sure, they aren't named "bandit", but that doesn't mean much to me. Everyone I've seen in this world so far has had their own name and a brief character description.

The cart starts jostling a bit as we leave the established dirt road to Galt. If we want to turn, we've got to move in a really wide arc.

The bandits veer off to try to intercept us. Yeah, there's no way they have good intentions. I grasp my bow, number-crunching furiously.

Libra's stronger than all of them, but he can't do a solo-fight. The stronger barbarian has an attack value of 29, so Libra can't fight him for too long, even with his recent level-up against Garm.

 **Libra  
War Monk**

LV: 4. EX: -.  
HP: 44/44

Str: 17  
Mag: 19  
Skill: 15  
Spd: 17  
Lck: 13  
Def: 14  
Res: 19

How are they gaining on us? There's about 100 metres between us when the stronger barbarian, Glen, calls to us.

"Oi, stop right there if ya know what's good fer ya! We won't kill ya if ya give up quick!"

"As I mentioned before, bandits aren't subtle," Libra says dryly.

I'd be more embarrassed if we weren't at immediate risk of death. Again.

I nock an arrow in answer, glad that I've decided to keep my bow strung. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to fire a bow. My motions are clumsy as I draw and _goddamn_ , this takes a lot more strength than I thought. No, I can do this. Breathe, aim…

Fire!

The first arrow I ever shoot in this world falls seriously short of the bandits. I think I have time for 2 more shots before they catch up with us. These guys are fast, and our cart is just unbalanced enough to make us slow.

"Yer askin' for it now!" Glen roars at us. The little girl who braided Libra's hair looks scared, but unlike most of the other children, she isn't crying. She hoists a small rock from our cart and throws it at the bandits. She misses, but I think she had better aim than I did.

Okay. Aim, draw, pull harder, aim again, fire!

The arrow goes wide. The bandits don't even flinch as they run across the hardened dirt ground of Plegia, chasing after us in our rickety cart. I hear their archer laugh as he pulls his own arrow from his quiver. He doesn't bother firing yet.

Beside me, Libra murmurs a prayer. Goddamnit, why is my aim so bad? Sure, my skill stat is atrocious and my weapon rank is only level E, but with 5 targets my arrow should make at least _one_ of them flinch.

… Oh, fuck, I'm going about this the wrong way. I'm treating this like real life. This isn't how I'm supposed to fight. I close my eyes.

"Naga, but I'm an idiot," I murmur quietly.

I mentally vocalize a command. _Attack_.

My bow thrums in my hand, just like my staff does when I heal others. Bingo.

I sift through enemy character sheets quickly. It's easy for me, now. I focus on Serran, the weakest barbarian among them. May as well be cost-effective with my attacks. I've got a 91% chance to hit for 7 damage. I'll take it.

 _Attack_.

Just like when I use Estus or a Heal staff, I'm barely conscious of my actions as my eyes snap open. The ground seems to move closer to me. Distantly, I hear yelling, but I shut it out.

My enemies suddenly seem so _close_. My motions are smooth. Bow up. Arrow nocked. Draw, aim, fire. Serran stares, dumbfounded, at the arrow protruding from his chest.

Then my actions catch up to me.

I'm not in the cart anymore. I'm standing _on the ground_ , in front of a group of barbarians who've probably only stopped out of sheer surprise at my stupidity.

I don't really blame them. What archer would surrender an excellent defender's advantage just to get a clearer shot?

The adrenaline and panic kick in half a second later. Why why why why _why_ did I just do that?

I turn around and run, heart pounding wildly in my chest.

"Wha' the _fuck_ -"

Roars of indignation and rage erupt behind me as my enemies give chase.

Stupid Fire Emblem mechanics! Stupid 2-range bow attacks!

I should've seen this coming. I can't control my actions when I mentally vocalize game commands. Selecting a target to attack means I have to _walk up to them_ first.

Oh god, I'm like those stupid green NPC allies that just charges in at strong enemies and die, aren't I? And Libra –

My heart nearly stops as I glance up and see Libra, almost on top of me. In the distance, our cart is steadily moving away. At least the kids are safe with Bran.

"Get down!" Libra cries, shoving me to push us in opposite directions.

My breath catches as an arrow whizzes past the space I was just occupying. If Libra hadn't moved me…

Did he just dual guard?

Panting hard even though we've barely begun fighting, I whirl around and back-step. The bandits are close enough to try to surround us, but Libra and I are back-pedalling quickly. I keep my eyes on the archer.

"Ach," Glen spits. "Wanted the cart. Ya could've just run, idiots."

"Got somethin' just as good, though, eh?" Falmer grins, leering at Libra and his braided hair.

"I'm not -" Libra starts.

"- going with any of you," I finish hastily, shooting him a look. It's better if they think he's a woman. It's more likely that they'll try to keep him alive if they think he can be used as a trophy.

"There's no point to fighting further," Libra says, twirling Garm's killer axe in his hand. "We have nothing for you to steal."

"Tha's where yer wrong, lass," Glen grunts. "Y'ell fetch a pretty sum, methinks."

Ohhh-kay. So it's _not_ better if they think Libra's a woman.

"He's a man," I point out.

Every bandit blinks in surprise.

"Bullshit," Falmer says, twirling an arrow.

" _Yer_ a man?" Serran asks incredulously, forgetting about the arrow lodged in his chest for a second.

"Yes," Libra says wearily. "As I was going to point out before someone interrupted me."

I shrug.

"There you have it," I say. "So, do we want a pointless fight, or are we all gonna be smart about this?"

"You think you can beat _us_ with skills like that?" one of the myrmidons scoffs. "Just give up and we'll make it quick. There's no way for you to beat us all."

Oh, come on. He _deserves_ to get struck down for blatantly invoking the laws of dramatic irony. If only I were stronger to make it so.

The 4 melee bandits form a half-circle around us, while their archer stays back. Libra stands a bit ahead of me, to my right.

"Are you sure you wish to fight?" Libra asks the bandits.

"Ya cost us that cart," Glen says. "We'll make do with those nice weapons of yers, since ya don't know how to use em."

Yeah, pretty sure they're going to kill us. I grip my bow and think fast. Libra thinks faster.

"Ess'ai, catch!"

I barely have time to catch a staff of wood before I see the war monk dashing off to his right, straight for a myrmidon. His attack is telegraphed, but it's _fast_. The myrmidon can't get his guard up in time, and he takes a direct hit to the chest. Even as he staggers back, he slashes at Libra and hits him through his robes. I hear Libra give out a gasp of pain.

The sound sparks something within me, and before I know it, my hands are moving. I dash to the right, trying to stay behind Libra, and drop my staff while I close my eyes.

 _Attack._ The myrmidon has 6 HP left. _Attack._

The motion is as smooth as it was last time. Raise, draw, aim, fire. A clean hit. The myrmidon drops, not dead, but no longer a threat.

The problem with my attacking method is that I can't react to anything that happens _while_ I'm attacking. I regain my focus a second too late, and scream as Serran's axe suddenly bites into my chest.

"Eye-fer-an-eye, bud," the weaker barbarian grunts. An adrenaline-fueled shove lets me push him back from me, and the pain brings clarity to my mind.

What am I doing? It's not time-efficient for me to attack. I need to focus on staying alive above all, and healing Libra when I can. A quick glance to my side reveals that Libra's fight isn't going well. He has to stay close to the remaining myrmidon and Glen. If he gets too far away, he'll be open to Falmer, the archer.

Falmer's clearly identified Libra as the priority, which gives me some breathing room.

This is bad. I doubt I can even take Serran, their weakest member, in a 1-on-1, and Libra's in a _worse_ spot than I am, if his gasps are anything to go by.

Serran charges me again. _Think! Fight smart!_

"Fuckin' hell, Serran," I blurt as I backpedal, clutching my wound. "Would ya take it easy?"

The weaker barbarian stops.

"… How the hell do ya know my name?" he demands.

 _Yes, breathing room! Okay, keep it vague._

"Didn't recognize yer ugly mug 'til after I stuck ya with that," I say, gesturing to the arrow in his chest. I take a calculated risk and close my eyes, pantomiming wiping my face as I check on the status of Libra's fight.

Holy shit, he's at 14/44 HP. No time to hesitate. I'm at 11/20 HP, so I should be able to tank another hit from Serran.

I had to drop the staff that Libra tossed me in order to attack with my bow. I pick it up now.

 _Staff – Mend._

My focus on the world around me disappears. I raise Libra's staff, and the gem at its tip glows green. My focus is on the war monk. I see his head jerk in surprise as he glances at me.

The burst of health must've done him some good, because he manages to deftly dodge an attack from Glen. Then, for some reason, he turns his back on his opponents and starts dashing towards me.

Why is he –

"AHHHHH!"

Pain _rips_ through my side again, and I fall to my knees.

"I asked you _how you know that name!_ " Serran snarls, pulling back his axe viciously. I don't have the strength to shove him back this time.

I miscalculated. Sure, I could tank another hit from Serran, but I'm not an actual RPG character. If my HP is at 2, then that means _pain_.

No, no, I'm still alive. It hurts, but I open my mouth, as if I'm answering Serran's question. My eyes drift close. It's not voluntary, but that's fine.

 **Estus Flask** **2/5** _: Use item._

The pain is still there, but it doesn't matter. My body ignores it and I find myself standing.

My Estus Flask is in my hand, and my arm is steady as I bring it to my lips. I sigh in pure relief as the Estus flows through me. It's beautiful. The burning in my sides becomes a faint stinging.

Then I blink.

Serran's head is no longer attached to his body. His corpse is lying in front of me. Libra is panting next to me, his robes flecked in blood again.

Seriously, way too much is happening in the few seconds it takes for me to use items.

"Are you o-" Libra starts. My eyes widen as I catch a figure closing in on us.

"Back off, pal!" I roar, ramming a myrmidon with my shoulder as he tries to gut Libra. I'm seriously lucky. My upper arm hits the flat of the myrmidon's blade, so I'm not injured for my trouble. I immediately retreat behind Libra.

Okay. There's one healthy and one critically injured myrmidon. Serran is dead, Glen seems to have taken a hit from Libra, and Falmer is uninjured. Libra's at 29 HP.

An arrow whizzes through the air and strikes Libra just as I heal him again. Some mental pinging tells me I've levelled up, but I don't have time to check it now. The remaining myrmidon and Glen attack together, and everything is chaos.

I don't have time to heal Libra a 3rd time. I'm moving left and right, trying to keep Libra between the bandits and myself. Libra barely has a chance to get in a hit. After a few hectic seconds, he manages to pull away. I see a determined expression cross his face.

 _Sshing!_

Libra lets out a deep exhale, then breathes in. "Gods, forgive me," he says. I can barely track what he does next.

Glen charges Libra with a wild swing, trusting his ally to cover him. Libra darts _towards_ Glen and grabs his hand, pushing it away. With a violent upwards swing, the war monk tears Glen's chest open, before immediately pushing Glen's corpse at the myrmidon to cover his retreat.

Holy hell. Pre-promotes.

The myrmidon stops attacking. Falmer drops his bow.

"That's enough," Libra says, breathing heavily. "Please, this is enough."

"Ya… ya killed him," the myrmidon says uncertainly. "Ya killed Glen."

"I didn't want to," Libra says, face tight. "But-"

Something snaps in the myrmidon's face. "Go to hell!" he roars, charging.

" _Don't-!_ " Libra brings his axe back up, but the swordsman darts past Libra, surprising him. Oh shit, he's aiming for me.

I don't have time to think. I try to roll away on instinct, but the myrmidon's follow-up is too good. His steel sword cuts into my back, and I close my eyes as I cry out in pain.

 _4 HP left, and he doubles me_ , I think blankly. _I'm screwed_.

 **Estus Flask 1/5** : _Use item_.

The sword cuts into me again even as I taste Estus on my lips. The pain is too much. The world disappears.

* * *

 **Dark Awakening – Now Loading**

 **Death God's Price** _: A penalty born of the Outrealm Skill "Eyes of Death." Permanently halves HP._

 _A young woman struck a bargain with a God of Death in order to support the man she loved. In exchange for much of her mortal lifespan, she gained the power to kill all those who stood before her._

 _The man she loved did not return her feelings, though. When he died, the woman was left alone in the world, her fatal powers now worthless. She could not reclaim her lost years._

 _Be wary when grasping for power. The flames that burn brightest are often the quickest to burn away._

* * *

The darkness and silence is like fuzzy cotton around my head.

"… In Naga's name…"

 _Rumble rumble rumble_.

"... Holy breath…"

I fade out.

* * *

It's night-time when I wake up. Familiar-looking stars shine brightly above me. I'm sleeping on a small, rough blanket.

"Libra…?" I call out groggily.

"I'm here," his voice answers. I tilt my head to the side as he approaches and kneels next to me. It's strange seeing him without his priest's robes. He's wearing simple cotton clothing.

"What… what happened?"

"Don't worry about that," the war monk answers. He looks tired. "Just rest."

I close my eyes. My HP is 20/20.

"Don't think I need it," I say, sitting up. "You healed me?"

"Yes."

"… What about the others?"

Libra gestures to the side with a weary smile. Father Bran and the orphans are sleeping nearby. Some of them are piled onto the wooden cart, while others are asleep on the floor. Did they come back for us?

I shake my head. "That's great, Libra, but I meant the bandits."

Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Libra's smile disappears. "Don't worry about that, for now," he repeats, more firmly this time. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine," I answer. I reassure him when he doesn't seem convinced.

"If you insist," he says reluctantly.

"I do," I say. "And… thanks, Libra. You saved my life. Again."

Libra shakes his head. "You accompanied me on this trip at my request. If I hadn't-"

"Oh no, you don't," I interrupt him smoothly. "You might not've gotten involved in that fight at all, if I hadn't jumped off and-"

I have to avert my eyes, because I can't finish the statement. God, I was a green NPC to Libra. How embarrassing.

Libra's face becomes serious. His voice is gentle when he speaks, though. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually," he says hesitantly. "I was going to leave it until morning, but now that you bring it up…"

I gesture at him to continue when he trails off.

"Ess'ai, please hear me out," he says. "I don't know or care about what might've happened in the past. I believe that you're a _good person_."

His hand hovers for a second, before he puts it on my shoulder and looks me in the eye. I'm not sure what's happening.

"Um, okay," I say eventually.

"You are!" he says forcefully, before he checks his voice with a wince, glancing at the sleeping children. "You fought against that pirate, Garm, when you could've run. And what you did today… you deserve to live, too!"

He sounds so passionate that I raise my arms in defense. "Wait, wait wait wait," I say. "Where is this coming from?"

"You tried to sacrifice yourself today, didn't you?" he says.

What? What part of…? Oh, wait a second. I try to imagine things from his perspective.

"Libra-" I start.

"Don't," he says, raising an arm to forestall what he probably thinks will be an excuse. "I heard you say out Naga's name when your eyes were closed. You were praying, weren't you? And then you jumped off the cart and tried to become a distraction so we could get away."

"No," I say flatly. "No, that's not what happened at all."

Libra's look of sympathy doesn't help matters at all. I wonder what kind of tragic backstory he's come up with to justify the idea that I might actually try to go out in a blaze of glory.

But seriously, I'm not an atoner. I'm not having any of that, even if it's kind of funny.

"Remember that spell I was telling you about?" I say before Libra can get carried away. "The one that let me cast Mend? It affects how I fight, too."

Libra pauses.

"This is what actually happened…"

* * *

"So yeah, I'm not suicidal. Just stupid," I finish.

"Oh," Libra says. "Well… I guess that could explain it. I've never heard of such an unusual spell being bound to a person before, though."

I shrug. "I'm grateful for it. It's pretty convenient to be able to use a staff without training. Or to be able to fire a bow, even if I can't really hurt anyone with it."

Stupid low strength stat.

"No," Libra says slowly. "If anything, Ess'ai, I believe that your inability to hurt others is a blessing."

I stop myself from disagreeing, because Libra looks pretty serious right now. His eyes are on the children, and he speaks quietly.

"Ess'ai… I apologize if it seems like I'm prying, but have you seen much combat, before?"

I shake my head. "Until about a week ago, no."

"Is that so?" Libra says. "That's good. Killing another human being is a terrible thing. The memories of violence and blood don't easily fade."

There's an air of melancholy around him. I don't like it.

"Libra," I say. "You know you weren't at fault for today, right?"

He doesn't answer.

"Seriously, Libra," I say. "If you hadn't-"

"I know, Ess'ai," he answers, closing his eyes with a sigh. "It doesn't make things any easier."

He opens his eyes and shifts his gaze from the children to me. "The spell on you allows you to use both staves and bows," he says. "But you're the one who decides which of the two to wield, right?"

"Right," I say uncertainly.

Libra smiles, and the dark of night seems to withdraw a little from around us.

"My axe may be notched, but your quiver is full," Libra says. "I'm glad." He thinks for a moment, then nods. "Give me a moment."

He walks off to the cart, quietly, so as to not wake the children. When he comes back, he's holding the staff he lent me earlier today. He offers it to me.

"Libra?"

"Take it," he says. "As a reminder. You've come far with the staff, and barely touched your bow. I think you should try to keep it that way, if you can."

"I don't know if I'll be able to," I admit, taking it into my hands. "But I'll try."

"That's all I ask," Libra says.

There's a lull in the conversation. "You're good at this priestly stuff," I note, mostly to break the silence.

"My words aren't those of a priest," Libra says with a sad smile. "But those of a man who always seems to end up, for one reason or another, wielding the axe instead of the staff."

There's not much I can say to that.

"Sorry," Libra says. "Am I being too gloomy?"

"Nah," I respond. "It's cool."

"Would you mind indulging me for a moment longer, then?" Libra asks. I nod. "It's just a bit of advice. Don't tell others of the spell that affects you, unless you trust them completely."

"Wasn't really planning on it," I say, frowning. "But alright. Any particular reason?"

"People fear things they don't understand," Libra says. "And frightened people do foolish things. This morning, when you said that you had a spell on you… that's not something you should've told a stranger."

"You're not a stranger, though," I point out.

"Now? Perhaps not," Libra notes with a laugh. "But this morning, we were close to it. I'm glad you trusted me with that kind of information, but it was risky on your end."

"Hmm," I answer vaguely. "I figured it was okay. I mean, unexplained things happen all the time. And in a town like Loa, I'm sure people have run into mages, so they shouldn't be completely unfamiliar with magic."

Of course, the real reason I trusted Libra is because he's _Libra_. I can't say that, though.

Libra shakes his head. "Mages are not the kindest of people," he says. "People fear mages and magic for good reason."

"You didn't," I say. "Seem afraid, I mean."

"Ah," Libra says. "Well, I understand what it's like-"

He cuts himself off.

"… What it's like?" I prompt, when Libra fails to follow-up.

"No, it's nothing," Libra says, shaking his head. "I could tell you were a good person when you helped me. And the church doesn't turn anyone away, no matter what unwilling magics they're involved in, if they have a good heart."

His voice is filled with that gentle, determined passion that's unique to him.

"Wow," I say with a chuckle, "you might make a believer out of me, yet."

"Huh?" That seems to throw Libra for a loop. "You… don't believe in the Gods?"

Oh, hell. I don't think I need to guard my words around Libra, but I should definitely be a bit more careful about religious talk in a medieval setting.

"I'm sure that there's powers out there higher than humans," I say cautiously, referring to Grima and Naga. "But I don't think they're the perfect beings that we humans make them out to be."

Libra frowns. "Perfect beings?" he asks quizzically. "I certainly revere Naga, as do near all Ylisseans, but we don't claim that she's perfect."

"Oh," I say, momentarily stumped. I think I'm conflating Fire Emblem's religion with most modern Earth religions. "Ah, sorry. My upbringing didn't really expose me to much about Naga."

"You're in the right company to get that oversight corrected, young heathen," Libra says with a smile. "Well, now I'm certain that Naga brought us together for a reason. So that I could show you the beauty of faith!"

"Where I come from, people are pretty cynical about faith," I say. "But… I'll admit I'm a little curious. Just be warned that I'm not really religious."

"That's fine," Libra says, moving to his own blanket on the ground nearby. "We can talk about whatever you're interested in tomorrow. Naga willing, we'll have an uneventful day for once."

I think about the series of unusual events that my life has become since I've entered this world. "I'm not holding my breath."

"Naga has blessed me with a powerful set of lungs to preach with. I'll hold enough breath for the two of us," Libra says. "Sleep well."

I smile at that. "Sleep well, Libra," I say, laying back down on my makeshift bed.

I _am_ feeling kind of drowsy. I wearily dismiss the half-expected message that pops up as I close my eyes.

 _Ess'ai and Libra attained support level_ _ **C**_ _._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Update rate should normalize now. I think I've almost given up on making 3k word chapters.**

 **Shout-out to Daniel Brantt since I can't reply to guest reviews privately. Reviewers that point out what specifically works (or doesn't work) for them are appreciated.**

 **That said, thanks for the reviews, favs, and follows to** _ **everyone**_ **so far!**

* * *

I don't notice the second message until I wake up early next morning. The sun isn't visible on the horizon yet, but it must be rising, as faint light illuminates the land around us. It's a little chilly.

 _All support slots have been filled_.

I blink rapidly and shake my head as my brain comes to life. I rise from the blanket acting as my bed, stretching my sore muscles. It looks like Father Bran is the only other person awake. He's sitting on the cart and watching the sunrise. He gives me a wave as he sees me stand, which I answer with an acknowledging nod.

There's barely a twinge from my back where I was struck yesterday.

Unbelievable. A sword sliced through my back, across my lower spine, but I'm not paralyzed or hampered at all. Either it didn't strike as deeply as I feared, or healing magic is absurdly overpowered. I'd love to discuss its limitations with Libra or Bran, but first things first.

I close my eyes and re-examine the message in my head.

 _All support slots have been filled_.

 _Continue_ , I think. The message disappears, but there's no further explanation provided in my head. Okay… so what just happened?

The message appeared after obtaining a C-support with Libra, so Occam's razor suggests that the message is referring to a limit on support partners, as opposed to some unrelated and undiscovered support mechanic.

For my support slots to be "filled" implies that they weren't _fixed_. That makes sense. It's statistically improbable that I'd run into the only 2 people that I could support in this entire world, Roll and Libra, in my first few weeks here. Plus, 1 of my 2 supports is Roll, a character wholly divorced from canon. Perhaps it's egocentric bias, but why would I get such an obscure character as a pre-built support?

It's much more likely that I had two wild-card supports. And… I just depleted those supports.

 _Whyyyyyyyyy_ –

Gods damnit, if I knew how that mechanic worked _beforehand_ I wouldn't have wasted a support on Roll. I mean, sure, I got a nifty bow out of it, but if I could support a hardcore pirate like Roll, I could probably support anyone.

Like Chrom. Or _Validar_.

"You're looking pretty upset, son," Bran's voice interrupts my thoughts. I open my eyes to see the elderly priest peering up at me. Before I can respond, he reaches up and raps his knuckles on my forehead. "Everything all right in there?"

"Yeah," I say, trying not to be surprised at how close he got to me without my noticing. "Don't mind me. I'm just raging."

Bran blinks once and mouths the word "raging", then tilts his head slightly. "I see, I see. At what, if I may ask?"

"Myself. The world," I say, careful to keep my voice down on account of the still-sleeping children. "Mostly the world, for being stupid and not telling me its rules when it'd really help."

Bran smiles slightly. "Hoh. You're not the first man I've heard say that, and Naga willing I'll be alive to hear others say it, too. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nah," I say. "Just let me sulk quietly for an hour or so, and I'll get over it."

The older man nods. "Of course," he says, withdrawing from my personal space. "Ah, by the way… If you'd prefer speaking to Libra about your troubles, I'm sure he'll be willing to lend an ear."

"I know he will," I answer. He's cool like that, and we've got a C-support, too. I catch a flicker of a grin on the priest's face. "Ah, Father Bran?"

"Hmm?"

"When're we planning on leaving?" I ask.

"Not until Libra wakes up, I'd say," he replies. "Last night tired him out."

"Right, I've been meaning to ask. What happened yesterday, exactly?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure exactly what happened on your end," he says. "But by the time I re-approached you two, the fight was already over and you were out cold."

"You came back with the children?" I ask. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but wasn't that kind of-"

He waves it off. "I was careful and ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble," he says. "Leave the worryin' to geezers like me. But anyway, we picked you up, and Libra was mother-henning over you and the children all the way to our campsite here."

"The children are all fine, right?"

"Of course," the priest says, puffing out his chest in a clear parody of a manly man. "They were with me." His smirk afterwards doesn't seem very priestly. "You know, Libra refused to rest until you woke up."

"Is that so?" Oh, that's right. He thought I'd gone all atoner on him.

"Mmhmm," he pats me on the shoulder. "Well, best of luck with that."

"Thanks," I answer automatically. "Wait, best of luck with what?"

The priest's already returned to the cart, though.

* * *

I levelled up yesterday. I was too out of it to check at the time, but I go over my stats now.

 **Ess'ai  
Outrealmer**

LV: 5. EX: 13.  
HP: 20/20.

Str: 5  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 3  
Spd: 8  
Lck: 6  
Def: 10  
Res: 9

Looks like I got a point in strength, speed and luck. Not bad.

It takes me an hour to discover the support menu. I need to close my eyes to view my character page, focus on the "Full" button to gain additional information about myself, and then think _Supports_. Just thinking the word on the regular character page doesn't seem to work.

That seems rather obscure, so I'm not angry with myself for missing it. My mood is further improved when I discover that there's _3_ supportable characters on my list.

Libra - **C** B A  
Roll - **C** B A S  
 _? ? ?_ \- C B A S

Each row has a small animated icon of my partners brandishing their weapon of choice. The person in the last row is shaded out, but I can still see the outline of their body, and I'm pretty sure it's female Robin.

Aww-right!

I have confirmation that Robin exists, and I can support her. Or rather, she can support me. She's the main character, after all, so she supports _everyone_.

I can also S-support Roll. That's interesting. I'm going to guess that's a Companion support and not a marriage one, since I'm pretty sure I'm straight. It doesn't really matter, though. That ship has sailed with me abandoning the _Raven_. Puns intended.

So it looks like by default, I come with a Robin support available, and 2 wild-cards. That would've been great to know in advance – no, don't mope.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Now that I know this world is completely willing to thrust me into a system without explaining its mechanics, it'd be stupid of me not to look for more information. I spend some time trying combinations of words and phrases while navigating my character page.

 _Bonus box. Bonus. Renown. Renown awards. Streetpass team. Info. Information. Further information. Tutorial. Barracks. Equipment. Status. Menu._

I discover that thinking _Inventory_ while looking anywhere on my character page adjusts my mental focus to the inventory instantaneously. It's kind of useless, since the inventory is one of the first things I see when I open my character page, but… the more you know, I guess.

I'm having trouble remembering Dark Souls commands, which is unfortunate because I'm pretty sure there's some hidden commands there. It's how I use items, after all.

Thinking _Bonus Box_ on the Full character information page brings up a new, completely blank page. There's nothing on it, and no further permutations of words does anything. I resolve to keep on testing it with other words. The bonus box is incredibly broken in-game and would make my life a _lot_ easier right now.

That's how I spend the next few hours. To conserve our food supplies, I take a sip of Estus for breakfast. Then Libra wakes up, and we set off on a course for Galt.

* * *

"But I've heard the term 'war monk' thrown about," I say, shifting in my seat as our cart passes over a pothole. "So does that mean you-"

"No," Libra says. "Certainly, in the past, all those called war monks had to be, well, monks. But in this day and age it's a title that goes to almost anyone associated with the Church who also knows how to fight."

The Church in this world seems largely inspired by Christianity, but there's enough variations that I can't take what little I know for granted.

"Right," I say. "So you _don't_ normally live in isolation with other monks, then?"

"No, because I'm not a monk," Libra explains patiently. Behind him, one of the older girls is doing up his hair into a braid again.

"You're a priest, though, right? Should I be calling you Father, then?"

" _I_ don't think so. I've been discussing this exact topic with Father Bran for some time now," Libra says. "Titles aren't standardized in the Church, and they should be-"

"Bah," Father Bran waves a hand dismissively. "Every little community seems to have a different set of rules for who calls whom what. The differences are small enough that it's just not worth the effort to fix."

"These details could matter hundreds of years down the line," Libra insists. "History has shown us that the smallest differences in opinion can lead to conflict. And it's about sending a message of unity to those with an outside perspective."

"Message of unity?" I ask, trying to connect the idea to proper use of religious titles. "Seems like a bit of a stretch."

"To those viewing our ways for the first time, the smallest inconsistencies could be off-putting," Libra says. "I'd hate for someone to miss out on Naga's kindness because of something so seemingly small, but that's human nature."

"More like _your_ nature, you perfectionist," I say. I can almost see Libra suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

Bran laughs. "Already noticed that about our Libra, eh?" He shakes his head. "I'm not saying it doesn't matter, but there's greater priorities."

"It's not something that'd be difficult to fix," Libra says, and from his tone I gather that this is something they've debated before. "We'd just need a very reasonable and clear system of titles."

"And a bunch of gold to hasten the minds of some stubborn men," Bran snorts.

Libra's expression has a touch of exasperation. "It can't hurt to try. Ess'ai, what do you honestly think?"

"Eh," I say noncommittally. "I'm not familiar enough with the Church to give any practical suggestions, but I agree that the smallest divisions could grow to form pretty large splinters if left unchecked, particularly when faith is involved."

"Of course you'd agree," Bran says, nudging me with an elbow.

"Ow." I raise an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The conversation continues on in that vein for some time. The sun is beginning to set. We've run into a few travelers, but no one hostile. There was one person whose character description heavily implied that he was a bandit, but I brazenly kept an arrow on-string as he walked by. He eyed us speculatively, but didn't give us any trouble.

I'd like to think I was the deciding factor there, but who knows for sure?

The children are mostly entertaining each other while we adults talk away the long hours to Galt.

"I'm telling you, practically, that you're going to get a bunch of priests nodding to you, then turning around and changing nothing when you leave," Bran says, and Libra sighs.

"Hmm. Why not run it by the Exalt instead?" I ponder. "Isn't she a figure of religious significance?"

Bran laughs. "You've never been to Ylisse before, right?" I shake my head. "Well, you're already thinking like a native."

"Huh? How so?" I ask.

Libra's smiling slightly, too. "When in doubt, ask the Exalt."

Bran shakes his head. "It'd certainly _work_ to get everyone in line, I'll give you that much. But she's got enough on her plate without us adding to it."

"But she does have weight in the Church, right?" I ask.

The answer is a resounding _yes_ , both politically and in terms of moral support. Emmeryn has solid momentum with the people, and it's _much_ easier for the Church to set her up as one of them instead of fighting for power over the masses with her.

Libra doesn't quite phrase it like that. Bran does. I don't think he cares about political correctness.

"So," I say. "A few words from her would probably solve this entire issue completely. While for one of you, it might take years of work."

Libra sighs. "Believe me, Ess'ai, that's how it is for everyone. Everyone thinks their problem is special, and everyone turns to Her Grace for a quick fix. I don't think I'm being prideful in looking for another way. It just doesn't sit right with me to always run to her for help."

"Always? Have you met her before?"

That gets a faint smile out of Libra. "Twice actually, though only from a distance."

From there we derail into story-time. I bring up the idea that since it wasn't Libra directly looking for her help, he's justified in asking her for help _now_ , but he seems set against the idea. Then we start debating the appropriate intervals at which one could reasonably ask the Exalt for help. Bran has an amused look on his face as Libra and I trade opinions back and forth.

Time flies by.

"You know," Libra says off-handedly as we set up camp for the night. "When I said I wanted to teach you of Naga, I was referring to the faith aspect."

I shake my head. "I honestly have no idea how we spent a whole day talking about Church _politics_."

Bran laughs as he helps the children get to bed. "Welcome to religion, friend."

* * *

We run into a pair of bandits on our 3rd day, but they're not attacking us. They're attacking what appears to be a lone merchant. They've drawn their axes and – holy shit, they're actually trying to kill the man!

 **Flann  
Barbarian**

LV: 2. EX: -.  
HP: 30/30.

 **Flynn  
Barbarian**

LV: 5. EX: -.  
HP: 38/38

 **Hugh  
Villager**

LV: 1. EX: -.  
HP: 18/18

"Libra!"

"I know," he says, quickly grabbing his axe from his pack. "Father Bran-"

"What a terrible state of affairs," Bran sighs. "I'll backtrack with the children. Be careful!"

The merchant gives a shrill cry as he tumbles in his haste to escape. That probably saved his life. The stronger barbarian, Flynn, barely misses him with a thrown hand-axe, but now he's rushing the merchant.

"Ess'ai, give a warning shot!" Libra says urgently.

"Right!" Oh wait, I don't have the skill to do warning shots without targeting someone mentally. My technique is atrocious without the game's aid. Well, whatever. I don't need to be precise.

"Stay out of my range," I warn Libra as I nock an arrow. I need to stand still in order to shoot, so Libra goes on past me as I draw back. Alright, aim vaguely for the bandit… loose!

Oh hell. The arrow barely skims by Libra and falls short of the bandit. Libra shoots me an incredulous look, but it gets the bandit's attention anyway. Success?

The bandits stop chasing the merchant, who runs past us.

"Thank you," he gasps out. "Oh gods, thank you."

"Outta the way," Flynn growls, hefting his axe. "If you don't wanna get hurt."

"Is this what it looks like?" Libra asks the villager we saved.

The man nods. "Uh, I guess so, sir. Ah mean, I don't know these folks or nothin'."

Libra nods. "So," he says, addressing the bandits. "I take it you're trying to kill this man in order to steal his goods?"

"No shit," Flann says. "Last warning. Outta the way."

"No," Libra says. "Walk away now. This can end right here."

Damn, I'm impressed. I'm not worried because I know Libra's stats trump these guys, but Libra doesn't know that. He doesn't look afraid at all, only resigned. I raise my bow again, and Libra glances back at me.

"Remember what we talked about, Ess'ai," he says softly.

Oh. I put the bow back and take out Libra's mend staff, instead, stepping behind the war monk to support him.

The bandits, for their part, don't look so certain anymore. Libra's confidence is probably bothering them.

"Ah hell," Flynn says. "You asked for it, priest."

He approaches Libra cautiously and takes a probing swing, which Libra dodges. Flann follows up with another swing, forcing Libra to back-step. The two are careful in their attacks, but there's no real risk of Libra getting hit if they aren't going to commit.

Flynn changes that when he reaches into a pouch and throws an axe at Libra. Libra raises an arm instinctually in self-defense, and amazingly enough, the axe connects.

With the haft. I guess that's why throwing weapons is a stupid idea.

The distraction is enough for the bandit to get in a quick hit on Libra's upper arm, though, tearing through his robes.

"Ah, not again," Libra says, wincing.

 _Splat!_

Libra's return attack is powerful, slicing through Flynn's chest. The bandit staggers back, even as I close my eyes and cast a mend spell on Libra. May as well be careful.

"Fuck!" When I open my eyes, Flann has stopped attacking to support his ally. "You alright, bro?"

"Fuck this," Flynn coughs out, eyes flickering between Libra and his own wounded chest. "Fuck this. We're done."

"Done?" Libra says softly. "I could kill you right now. Who says you get to decide when this is done?"

Holy _shit_. The bandits pale, and they're not the only ones. Libra sounds scary.

Libra approaches the pair and raises his axe. They flinch.

"I won't continue this fight," he says, and they sigh in relief. "That's not Naga's way. But if you continue on this path, you're going to run into someone who _won't_ stop. There are better ways if you look for them. Please, heed my words."

Flynn's expression is troubled. Flann just looks like he wants to get out of there.

That's how our fight ends.

* * *

I miss the conversation between the merchant and Libra, because as soon as the bandits run off I backtrack to find Father Bran and the children. Bran waves at me as I come into sight, and I lead him back to Libra, picking up my stray arrow on the way.

The merchant is heading off in the direction of Loa.

"… a pirate raid," Libra is saying as I rejoin the pair.

"Tha' right? Probably best to get there quick-times, I reckon. Ah'll need to set-up everythin' for the others," Hugh scratches his face. "Thank you again fer everythin', sirs. I owe ya ma life. Ya sure there's nothin' I can't give ya?"

Aw, I think Libra's already turned down any possible reward. Well, he did the legwork, so it's his choice. Libra shakes his head.

"I'll be off, then," the merchant says. "Ah, name's Hugh, 'fore I forget."

"Libra," the monk says in return.

"Ess'ai."

The merchant shakes our hands, and then we go our separate ways. The ride is quieter than normal for the next hour while we try to shake off the post-battle atmosphere.

"Hugh said that there's more bandits around than normal," Libra quietly mentions to Bran and myself. "Apparently, a large group has broken up with the death of their leader. I wouldn't be surprised if we run into other small groups before we get to Galt."

"Especially as we approach the town itself, I imagine," I add.

Libra nudges me to explain when I don't elaborate.

The ideal ambush spot for a bandit should be right outside of a town. You need to be far enough from town guards, but close enough to a spot where you _know_ there's going to be people. Plus, travelers coming into a town are weariest at the end of their journeys. I explain as much to Libra.

"Well," I conclude. "That's what seems most logical to me. Any insight?"

He gives me a wry smile. "Yes. You seem pretty familiar with how bandits think."

I swat him on the arm. As interesting as it is, I guess these kinds of conversations are more suited for someone like Robin instead of Libra, so I change the subject. The remainder of the day goes by with idle conversation between the three adults in our group.

One of the most interesting things I pick up in conversation is the relationship between healers of the church and mages. There seems to be some friction there, but I don't probe further.

Galt comes into sight on our 4th day.

The children are surprisingly energetic. I've been spending my time alternating between trying to uncover bonus box secrets, and talking with Libra.

I've had no luck with the bonus box, but Libra's a pretty good conversationalist, even when we get into some pretty heavy topics.

"King Gangrel," Libra says with a hint of distaste. "It's an open secret that he hates Ylisse, but no, I don't think it'll come to war."

"Hmm," I say skeptically. "I heard some troubling rumors back in Loa."

"There are always rumors," Libra says lightly. His eyes are sharp, though. They flicker to the children and then back to me. "I wouldn't read into them too much."

"Right," I say, receiving his unspoken message. I stare back into his eyes for a bit longer than necessary, and he gives me a short nod. I'm guessing that means he acknowledges that I want to talk to him later.

We run into two small groups of bandits before we get to Galt itself. They more-or-less go the same way as yesterday's encounter. Our initial intimidation of the bandits always fails. I always hide behind – uh, _support_ – Libra, and after a few blows they decide that we're not worth the trouble.

I'm vastly underselling how scary it is knowing that I could die in these fights, but I feel stupid focusing on myself. Libra's the one soaking up the bandits' attention and blows, and he's not complaining, so I won't either.

Interestingly enough, I get a good feel for how Libra fights by watching his back. He seems to have two modes. Passively watching the enemy, and rushing them down in a burst of violence.

Case-in-point, right now. We're facing a group of 3 bandits, and Libra's been doing nothing but dodging for the past 20 seconds. I see a shift in his posture, a tensing in his legs, and I stop back-pedaling and close my eyes to prepare a Mend spell.

There's the bandits cries of pain. And _there's_ Libra's small gasp as he takes a hit while in his overwhelming offense mode. I cast Mend instantly.

I guess it must be unnerving for the bandits to fight someone who's healed as soon as he gets hit. They surrender soon after.

"You've got a pretty reckless fighting style when you're going all-out," I comment idly after our skirmish. Father Bran, bless his soul, has been great about keeping the children from seeing our battles. We're lucky we haven't been outright ambushed yet.

"If I know you're not going to attack with your bow, then that means you're keeping your mind on when to heal," Libra responds. "And it worked, didn't it?"

"We seem like we have decent synergy when we fight," I admit. "But that'll fall apart as soon as soon as the bandits wise up and attack _me_ first. I go down much faster than you."

"That's what _I'm_ here for," Libra says.

You're missing the point, Libra. If his fighting style is anything to go by, he's not the most tactically-oriented fighter. Then again, his system seems to work pretty well against bandits.

Galt is a walled town, and it has local townsfolk guarding an entrance. It's only two mid-level villagers with iron lances and no armour, but it's better than nothing. Bran raises an arm in greeting.

"Ho there!" the elderly man calls out.

One of the guards smiles. "Ho, Father! Glad to see ya made it back all safe-like, what with all the trouble brewin'."

Huh. I wasn't expecting a friendly greeting for a priest of Naga in a Plegian town. They exchange some pleasantries.

"Good timin', too," the guard remarks as we pass by. "We've got some merchants and whatnot in from Ferox!"

Libra seems happy to hear that. I nudge him and raise an eyebrow.

"Well, it'll be good for the children, I think," he says by way of explanation, and I nod. "A good first impression for Galt. I won't say trade's been restricted here for the last little while, but… it hasn't been booming, either. Especially with those bandits about."

Galt is different from Loa. It smells earthy, while Loa smelled salty, as befitting its status as a coastal town. There's a small hubbub as we traverse the town proper in our cart, passing by some interesting-looking merchant stalls. The children _ooh_ and _ahh_ appropriately. I keep an eye on them to make sure they don't leave the cart.

"Fresh, hot meat pies, best in Galt, better than Harry's, for sure, come and get 'em!"

"Hah, don't listen to that phony, _I've_ got the best-"

I'm not as fascinated with medieval worlds as I was when I was a child, but this is pretty awesome. Smells a bit, though. I watch a child dash right underneath our cart, winding through the crowd.

I know Earth is objectively superior in nearly every way, but this is different. Just letting it soak in, I feel like this is the first time I've actually been able to appreciate civilization in Fire Emblem. There were pirates at the Sea King's throne, and Loa was depressing to be in post-raid, but this… it's nice.

The church in Galt is a lot more humble than I'd been expecting. It doesn't look any different than the other buildings. That is, it's made of plain brick and has open holes for windows, with curtains or sliding wood-panels for coverings. The inside is nice, if a bit quiet.

"Ah, you're back already? I wasn't expecting you for a few more days!"

A bearded, stocky man in brown robes greets Bran warmly, and gives friendly nods to the rest of us.

 **Jan** – _A pensive man trying to understand suffering._ **  
Priest**

LV: 11. EX: -.  
HP: 32/32

I have no idea what to make of his character description. I can't interpret it as good or bad, but he seems normal enough. He has _miracle_ , _heal-touch_ , and _HP + 5_ as skills.

That's interesting. _HP + 5_ means he was originally a fighter, and now he's a priest. I wonder if there's a story behind that? Repentance for previous violence, perhaps? Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. How is gameplay and story segregation supposed to work when I'm actually living the game?

There are some wooden pews here. Does any religion aside from Christianity use pews on Earth? I'm not too sure. I notice a stone idol of what appears to be Naga, surrounded by a few candles.

The children are taking in the church and Jan with mixed reception. The younger ones seem curious, while the older ones seem wary.

The girl who was braiding Libra's hair pulls at his robes to get his attention. "Is this home?"

Something about that pulls at my heart. Libra's smile is gentle.

"Yes, it is. Welcome home, children."

* * *

Hours later, once we've helped the children get settled in and unpacked our cart, Libra takes me aside.

"You seem troubled," he notes.

"How are you planning on feeding them?" I ask bluntly.

"Don't worry about it too much. We'll get by," Libra says, and then he blinks when I frown. "Oh, we're not – we _are_ planning on taking care of them. We get supplies from Ylisse, and-"

I pick up on some inflections in his voice that I wouldn't have noticed a few days ago.

"Hold up, I'm not even close to implying any wrongdoing," I say, waving my hands. "Although… I'm wondering now what you think I was implying."

"Ah…" Libra looks surprisingly sheepish. "I'd rather just change the subject."

"Well, that's blatant," I note.

"I think I'm picking it up from you, honestly," Libra says. "Well, Father Bran and yourself."

"Fair enough," I say, casting about for another topic. "We never really got to talk actual theology."

Libra's eyes seem to light up a bit as we take seats near each other on the wooden pews. "That's right. Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss first? Any questions?"

I've been thinking on this for some time, actually. Libra's 1 of the only 2 people in this world that I can viably support. If I decide to join the Shepherds, I'll probably be fighting alongside him as much as I can.

More than that, I've already fought alongside him. We've saved each other's lives. So, I'm going to treat him like a real person. I'm not going to pull my questions.

I'll try not to be an asshole about it, though. More than anything, I just want to get to know him a bit better.

"Well… I do have a question, but you might construe it as offensive," I start. "It's a purely hypothetical question, and doesn't reflect my beliefs at all. Is that alright?"

A corner of his mouth quirks upwards. "I won't be offended," he says, looking interested. "Ask away."

I keep my eyes on him as I speak. "What would you say if I had – and I _don't_ , this is just for the question's sake – absolute definitive proof that Naga didn't exist?"

Libra's brows furrow. "That's more of a question about _me_ than the faith, but very well."

I snort. He's on-point with details. "Perfectionist."

"Not the choice of word I'd use, but since I'm a priest and not a scholar, I'll let it go," Libra answers absently as he steeples his fingers. I'm glad to see that he's actually mulling over the question and giving it some thought.

"I'm certain no such proof exists," Libra says eventually. I nod, but as I open my mouth to press the hypothetical aspect he raises his hand. "And I've got to note that considering the question makes me uncomfortable."

I wince. I've heard that you're not supposed to talk religion or politics with new friends of opposing views if you want to stay friends. And that's all I've done with Libra so far.

"Ah, he – heck," I say. Maybe I shouldn't risk a friendship so early on. "Sorry, you don't have to answer if you-"

"It's fine," Libra assures me. "I'm proud of my faith in Naga, but _true_ faith means that I shouldn't feel uncomfortable considering these scenarios."

Then again, Libra's pretty cool.

"To answer your question, it wouldn't change anything for me."

"I thought you'd say that," I remark. "Why?"

Libra laughs. "Honestly, I just don't want to consider a world where Naga doesn't exist. I'm not a strong man. I'd rather lie to myself than live in such a world."

I blink. That's an incredibly self-aware comment. Then I laugh, too.

"That level of faith is something else, Libra," I say. I don't know if that qualifies as faith, actually. I tuck my legs in as a pair of the younger children run past us. "You're dead-wrong on the strength bit, though."

"Oh?

"Well, you were pretty incredible against Garm. I sure as heck wasn't fighting alongside a weak man then."

I don't know how Libra makes it seem like he's rolling his eyes while keeping a straight face. "I was referring to moral and psychological strength, not physical strength."

"Still applies. You were putting yourself in harm's way for children you didn't really know. That's strength."

"Perhaps," Libra says.

"Not perhaps. It is."

"Hmm," Libra rests his face on a palm, eyes fixed on the floor. "I realize the irony of my asking, but may I confess something to you, Ess'ai?"

"Absolutely."

"A few nights ago, you said I was good at 'priestly stuff'," Libra says. "And yet more and more often, I find myself thinking that I'm merely good at playing the role of a priest. That others see what they expect to see in me, and that my ruse is simply good enough to convince them."

Well, that's interesting. I don't remember how to do proper motivational interviewing, but I want Libra to explore his own thoughts more, so: "And does that bother you?"

Libra sighs. "I… yes? I'm unsatisfied. Ess'ai, there's something wrong about a man with hands as bloody as my own giving moral guidance to everyone else. A man such as Father Bran is suited for this vocation. I don't think I am."

This isn't the first time Libra's implied that he's fought a lot of people. At first, I dismissed it, but now I'm getting a bit concerned. I can be circumspect, or I can call out the elephant in the room. And when I phrase it like that, the choice becomes obvious to me.

"Libra," I say. Then I lose my nerve and sigh. I can't think of a good way to ask "how many people have you killed?"

Silence between us is usually comfortable. Now, it feels a little stifling.

"Why did you help those children?" I ask eventually.

" _We_ helped those children," Libra says. I'm glad to see a small smile on his face. "Thank you for that, by the way."

"Anytime," I say, gesturing at a pair of children running through a side room of the church. They look happy and excited. "Kind of its own reward, eh?"

Ah damn, don't prime Libra's mind with your own opinions, stupid.

But Libra nods. "Indeed. These children have lost so much. I want to give them something that can't be stolen from them. I want to give these children hope, Ess'ai. Hope and faith."

Something in his tone is tickling my mind. Belatedly, I remember his supports with Tharja. That's right, didn't he have a difficult childhood?

"And that's important for orphans, isn't it?" I say cautiously. "To have something that can't be stolen from them."

"Yes," he says heavily. "Yes, it's… very important."

"Libra…"

"You're perceptive," Libra says. "You can tell, can't you? Why I'm helping these children."

I sigh. "So you see yourself in them. What's wrong with that?"

Libra doesn't bat an eye at my guessing his back-story. "I'm being selfish. There are other issues I'm ignoring. Addicts. Bandits."

"You probably scared those bandits yesterday off a life of crime forever," I say in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.

Libra's not having it. "I deal with bandit _attacks_ , but I don't put my heart into convincing them to change their ways. It's just lip-service. 'We don't need to continue fighting. Please stop.' What's that supposed to accomplish?"

I shrug. "Sometimes words can't solve everything."

"That's what a priest's job is, though. To solve issues with words. I don't think Father Bran has seriously fought once in his entire life."

"So you're not the perfect picture of a priest," I say. "Big deal. You're a war monk instead, then. Who cares about the labels? I think you're doing what you should be doing."

"High praise from a pirate turned defender-of-children," Libra says, but the tilt of his mouth hints that he's joking.

"It sounds to me like you're worried that you're being selfish," I say. "That you're only concerned about issues that pertain to you, somehow."

I keep an eye on Libra's body language to see if he agrees. He nods, looking thoughtful. "I suppose that _is_ bothering me, yes."

"So how do you explain defending me when I ran off to fight those bandits yesterday?" I ask. "You were almost right behind me, despite how stupid it was of me to fight. Most men would've hesitated."

"I…" Libra pauses. "You called out Naga's name. I thought you were a repentant criminal trying to do good at the end of his life. I couldn't let your story end like that."

"Doesn't sound like it relates to you, but you stepped in to help anyway. Therefore, you're inherently good."

"Perhaps," Libra says again. I give him some time to mull over that.

"You don't look convinced," I note eventually. "So either we didn't address the concern of your selfishness properly, or there's another issue bothering you."

Libra smiles. "If you're going to press the issue, then I'll gladly share. Though I don't know how our roles have gotten so thoroughly reversed."

"Screw convention," I say. "Spill."

"I'm good at combat," Libra says. "I hate it, hate fighting or killing other people, but it comes easily to me. That scares me."

I'm not sure what to say, so I'm silent. Fortunately, Libra takes that as a cue to continue.

"I guess it comes together with that feeling of being a fake. I can play the role of a priest very well, but I'm great at fighting. You noticed my combat style, right? I wait and watch my opponents. When the time is right, I attack. The amount of time I need to wait depends on the enemy, but I can see it. I can see when they don't expect me to attack, and I use that to fight." He hesitates. "I'm a priest, but… am I _meant_ to be a priest, I wonder?"

"Hellllll yes," I say emphatically. Libra blinks. "So you're good at fighting. So what? There's no rule that says priests can't excel at combat. If anything, it lets you do what other priests _can't_ do."

"You can't control your natural skills, but you can choose what you do with them," I continue. "If you're skilled at fighting, then _embrace_ that, and use it for the greater good."

Libra doesn't look like he knows what to make of that. "Embrace… fighting?"

Right, the whole trope of "accept your dark side as a part of you" is a modern idea. Medieval worlds are probably all about repressing inner darkness.

I nod. "And in the meantime, if you're worried that you're simply playing the role of a priest, well, _don't_ be, because there's nothing wrong with that, either. As far as I'm concerned, if you're playing a role well enough that you've convinced everyone, and it reflects completely in your actions, then there's no difference between you and the real thing."

Libra doesn't say anything for a long time. When he does speak, his voice is heavy. "Naga would know the difference."

Argh. "I admit I know far less of Naga's ways than you," I try, "but from what I've heard she's entirely fair. You're _a good person_. Naga'll accept you. And if she doesn't, then she's not good enough for you."

Libra's eyes widen. Maybe it's not a good idea to blatantly blaspheme in front of a devout man.

The war monk puts his head in his hands. Is he… shaking?

"Libra-"

Wait, he's laughing. I feel a wave of relief when he looks up with a smile.

"I don't know what I was expecting with this conversation, Ess'ai," he says. "But it certainly wasn't this."

Something about his smile is different. It's not that Libra's been disingenuous before, but something about it seems more… soulful, I suppose. I feel a warmth in my chest.

"… Thanks, though," he adds. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"Anytime," I say, closing my eyes.

 _Ess'ai and Libra attained support level_ _ **B**_ _._

I had a feeling that's what was happening -

A window with a familiar-looking black icon pops up in my mind's eye.

 _ **Humanity**_ _(1)._

"Ess'ai? Is everything alright? You've gone still."

"Uh, it's nothing," I say, opening my eyes.

Libra clearly knows something's up, but with a stroke of convenient timing one of the children approaches Libra to ask him something. With a sharp look to indicate our conversation isn't over, he heads off. I close my eyes to investigate.

 _Inventory._

 **Hush 45/50** (E): _Inexpensive, but low in power.  
Rank: E, Mt: 4, Hit: 100, Crit: 0, Rng: 2, Eff: Pegasi._

 **Kara** : _A steel bracelet. No effect, but offers memories of a past life. Your starting gift._

 **Estus Flask** _ **2/5**_ : _A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest._

 **Mend 12/20** : _Greatly_ r _estores an adjacent ally's HP.  
Rank: D, Rng: 1_

 **Iron arrow (3)** : _Supplementary arrows. Restores durability of an equipped "iron bow"._

 **Bronze arrow (1)** : _Supplementary arrow. Restores durability of an equipped "bronze bow"._

 **Humanity (1)** : _A mysterious black sprite. Effects depend on context of use._

As I thought, I gained a humanity from that conversation. But why? And what's the role of humanity in a world that seems to be largely Fire Emblem based?

This can only be a good thing, but for some reason I feel nervous. Like I'm missing something.

"Ess'ai, is everything alright?" Libra voice interrupts my thoughts as he returns.

"Yeah, I think so. I may badger you for some insight on the nature of humanity soon, though."

Libra raises an eyebrow. "I'll be glad to return the favour. Ah, but I wanted to ask you something."

"What's up?"

"The children have heard that there's going to be a performance tonight," Libra says. "And, well, they haven't _asked_ , but I think they'd enjoy going. Bran agrees that it'd make for a great first impression on them."

"Performance?" I ask quizzically. "That happen often here? And what kind?"

"Only when we get travelling performers," Libra answers. "And I think it's going to be song and dance. Supposedly, one of their dancers is renowned for her grace and beauty across all of Ferox."

Well, isn't that _interesting_.

"Would you like to join us?"

"Yeah, I think I would."

* * *

 **A/N: RNGesus has come to bless Ess'ai's STR level-ups. Incidentally, there were no rolls for any of the bandit encounters this chapter because of Libra's presence.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well, so much for the previous update rate. Sorry.**

 **Again, thanks for the follows, favs, and reviews so far!**

* * *

I'm attending tonight's performance with mixed feelings.

If Libra's renowned dancer ends up being Olivia, then I'm worried that something bad is going to happen. You can't get a new character in Fire Emblem without some kind of battle, after all.

It took effort to convince Libra to bring his axe tonight, concealed under his robes. I haven't brought my bow, but my staff is present. I've been negligent in studying whether or not I can hide items in the same hyperspace my Estus Flask seems to use. I mark it in my mind as another task on my growing to-do list.

Priorities, though. I should start speaking to Libra about the plot soon. He's freely available now, but he might not be in the future. Optimize, optimize, optimize.

It doesn't feel like the right time _now_ , but I can't keep delaying, either.

 _THUM_.

The exciting murmurs of the crowd die down as a powerful set of drums make themselves heard.

 _Thum-thum-THUM._

Next to me, Libra is splitting his attention between the opening act and watching the children in front of us to make sure they don't wander.

 _Thum-thum-THUM._

Eight braziers on the ground are lit, creating an invisible circle for the performers. It feels like the whole town has come out for tonight. Though it's crowded, the people remember to leave room between the circle and the performer's caravan, so that dancers or singers can come and go.

I shift my legs for one of the children near me. Kids and shorter folk are closer to the front of the circle, for obvious reasons.

I hear the tinkling of bells as a pair of dancers step into the circle.

 **Adam  
Dancer**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 17/17

 **Elice  
Dancer**

LV: 5. EX: -.  
HP: 18/18.

I've been using my ability to see character descriptions to scout out everyone here, from the performers to the townsfolk. It seems like a good habit to get into.

My eyes open instinctively when I feel someone nudge me with their elbow.

Libra looks at me, raises an eyebrow in the direction of the dancers, then closes his eyes tightly in an exaggerated imitation of me.

"Shut it," I say.

Okay, it makes me look like an idiot sometimes. It's still a good habit.

The dancers stomp in rhythm with the drums. The tinkling of the bells on their ankles adds a nice effect. Both the male and the female are dressed in some pretty flimsy clothing, but it's more conservative than what Olivia wears.

Speaking of Olivia, there's no sign of her anywhere.

"Is that her?" I ask Libra, subtly pointing at Elice. "The renowned dancer?"

Libra tilts his head. "I think so."

… Well, the world doesn't revolve around me. Elice is certainly pretty enough to be famous. I wonder how well she dances?

 _Thum-thum-THUM. Thum-thum-THUM._

The rhythm picks up, and I hear some pipes added to the mix. There's another instrument that I can't really identify, but it seems like it uses strings, and – _damn_ , that's a good beat! It sounds vaguely Arabian.

Someone in the audience starts clapping in tune with the music. I join in, and I'm not the only one.

 _Thum-thum-THUM_.

 _Clap! Clap!_

The dancers smile at that, and then things really take off. They twist and spin and stomp in time with the beat. I idly notice a cloaked figure step into the circle. She starts to sing, and while I can't understand the words it's still beautiful.

I'm humming along with the music, and even Libra is nodding appreciatively.

Adam and Elice take turns dancing. Their faces glisten with sweat, but their movements remain smooth and controlled.

It feels like an hour has passed, though I can't be sure with the sun down. The music is still just as enchanting, the dancing just as exciting. The crowd is cheering, though their voices should be hoarse by now.

 _Thum-thum-THUM._

 _Clap-clap-clap!_

 _Thum-thum-THUM._

As they dance along the edges of the stage, they begin dousing the braziers. The music slows, and stops with a final _thum_ as the last fire dies out.

The crowd erupts in cheers, and only with some very distant torchlight can I make out the two dancers bowing.

I can make out one of the kids calling for Libra. "Wah! It's dark!"

"I'm here, children," I hear Libra's voice from beside me, barely audible through the audience's praises and whistling. The monk glances in my general direction. "I'll admit it makes for an impressive effect, but they really should've left one fire burning."

As if in response to his words, a brazier is lit once more, in the center of the performer's stage.

The crowd's cheering becomes excited murmuring. I feel a renewed hope as I see a cloaked figure, alone in the circle.

"A final act, eh?" I say to Libra.

He nods. "Looks like it."

The music starts up again, slowly building up speed.

 _Drum… Drum…. Drum…_

The figure starts dancing, but with the cloak on, it's hard to make out what they're doing, let alone whether they're male or female.

… Screw it, I'm cheating. I close my eyes.

 **Olivia  
Dancer**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 25/25.

 _Yessssss! Knew it!_

The music sounds different than before. I think I hear a sitar playing in the background.

"You're grinning, Ess'ai," Libra says.

Huh, so I am.

As the music swells and crescendos, the dancer shirks her cloak. In the flickering flames, I see a flash of pink hair. The dancer bursts into a new set of steps with renewed energy.

 _Drum-da-drum, drum drum drum!_

There's a few seconds of silence as everyone forgets how to breathe. Myself included. I mean, wow. _Wow_.

Underneath the cloak is Olivia in her dancer's outfit, almost exactly as her artwork depicts her. I was desensitized to her quickly enough during the game, but there's a difference between seeing someone in 3-dimensions and seeing a static image.

I'm in a painful state of wanting to close my eyes to protect them from hotness overload, and wanting to keep them open because, well, Olivia.

The audience roars its approval after they recover, and Olivia doesn't let up on her dancing. Drums, horns, and whatever string instruments the performers are using are playing in full force as Olivia steps and twirls and dances.

And boy, can she dance. The previous performers were great, but Olivia blows them out of the water. There's something more to her movements, a little more meaning, a bit more grace.

I don't think it's something that can easily be taught or explained. This is nothing less than the overlap of two rare events: someone being born with overwhelming talent, and someone having a chance to consistently hone their dancing skills.

The shadows flickering on her body from the lone brazier seem almost alive, just a much a part of her as her shawl. She glistens with sweat, and the combined effect is stunning.

She does a smooth sideways flip at one point, and the audience cheers and claps and whistles. She smiles, radiant and beautiful.

Beautiful. That word more-or-less covers the entirety of Olivia's performance.

I lose track of time. The music finally reaches its climax, and Olivia doesn't disappoint. There's a spin. There's a flip. Olivia brings her hand to her mouth.

 _Drum-da-drum, drum drum drum!_

She sends out a kiss out to the audience, and I realize belatedly that it's the signature dance she does in-game for allies. The crowd eats it up as Olivia bows.

She's shining with sweat and breathing hard, but she has a clear smile on her face as she finishes. I'm… going to burn this image into my brain.

I only manage to tear my eyes from her as she grabs her cloak again. The audience seems to want to swarm her, but the other performers quickly shepherd her back into their caravan.

"We'll still be here tomorrow, don't you worry!"

"That was _amazing_!"

"Didja see the way she did 'em 3 spins? And then the way she-!"

"Forget that, ya notice how she was all sparkly?"

"Ya mean _shiny_?"

"Nah mate, I mean them pink sparkles in the air!"

"The hells you talkin' about?"

"Har, who'd look at the air when you could look at her-"

"Alright, children," Libra's voice brings me back to reality. "I think it's time to get back to the church."

The children, who'd been mostly silent throughout the performance, burst into excited chattering and exclamations as Libra addresses them.

"Can we come back tomorrow?"

"Wowwww!"

"She's just as pretty as you, Father Libra!"

" _Wowwww!_ "

I don't know how to interpret Libra's expression, nor can I stop the laugh that breaks out of me.

* * *

"That," I say as Libra finishes putting the children to sleep, "was awesome."

The monk closes a door behind us, and we walk to gathering room of the church. Father Bran is asleep elsewhere, but Father Jan is still awake, poring over some tomes by candlelight. The bulky priests nods to us as we walk by.

"Heading to bed?" he asks. His eyes flicker to me with an undecipherable expression.

"Soon enough," Libra answers. "I'm going to head out for a quick walk with Ess'ai."

I blink and follow the monk as he leaves the church.

"A quick walk?" I ask as the doors clatter shut behind us.

"So you could talk to me about whatever it was you were holding back in front of the others," Libra says.

"Oh, you noticed," I say.

Libra waits for me to follow up, then gives me an amused smile when I don't. Argh, don't look at me like that! I've got to make sure I can get you to believe me, damn it!

"I'm guessing," he says gently, "that you're going to tell me where you're planning on going from here."

I nod to him gratefully for the set-up. Then I pause. "Wait, are you subtly telling me that I'm not invited to keep sponging off you guys?"

That actually gets a quiet laugh out of him. "I would be, had you not told me earlier that lives depend on you getting some messages to Ylisse." Then he frowns. "And you don't… "sponge" off us at all. Don't think I haven't notice how you barely eat, Ess'ai."

Good ol' Estus.

"Did I say that?" I ask, ignoring his last statement altogether. "Well, that's the short of it. Libra, I have a favour to ask of you."

The monk picks up on my tone. He holds his hand up to request silence as we walk through Galt.

It's not too chilly tonight. Libra leads me away from the torchlights in the town proper. He finds a secluded spot, away from any homes. There's open space around us, and no one nearby.

"I'm guessing that this is related to that spell on you," he says. "And that you don't want anyone to overhear this."

Did he pick that up from just my body language?

"Sort of yes and yes, respectively," I say. I've been thinking over this topic for long enough. It's time to commit. "Libra, the favour that I ask of you is that you listen _very carefully_ to what I'm about to tell you, and that you don't walk out halfway through this conversation. This is serious. I'm not joking about anything I'll tell you tonight, and lives will actually be on the line."

The monk nods slowly. "I am ready."

"Your word?" I prompt.

"You have it," he answers.

I hesitate for a moment. Honesty _is_ generally the best policy, right? I've read tons of stupid self-insert stories where the protagonist hoards information that they should really reveal, and the only reason it doesn't backfire is because of author rail-roading. I don't think I can rely on that.

Or maybe I _can_ , if my life is actually a story being read by people – no, focus. I've got a B-support with Libra, and I've known him for a little while now. Unloading on him as soon as I met him would have been careless, but I think I can get away with this now.

Now-or-never.

"Okay," I say. "First, a quick check-in on the state of affairs. The Grimleal are Grima-worshippers, correct?"

I can feel the monk's eyes on me through the darkness. "Yes," he answers.

"And Grima is a dragon of destruction that wants to end humanity?" I prod.

Libra clearly hesitates, and I can sense him looking around in the darkness. "Ah. Well, there's different interpretations-"

"That's what I've heard so far. Does it match what you know?"

The monk sighs. "Well… yes, but-"

I raise a hand. "That's fine, details can come later. The first thing I need to tell you is this: the head of the Grimleal is a man named Validar. I'm reasonably confident that he's outright evil. He has a plan to use the Grimleal to assassinate Exalt Emmeryn in Ylisstol, and I suspect this may be soon."

Libra hisses in a deep breath. "That's _insane_ – wait, the _first_ thing?"

"I'm going to get these all out in one big swoop, so keep up, and questions later," I warn. "That's one thing. Validar has a subordinate named Aversa, a beautiful woman with white hair and dark skin. One of her roles is to seduce Gangrel, and entice him into starting a war with Ylisse. The assassination and war with Ylisse will probably be back-to-back, though I'm not sure which'll be first."

I _think_ the Maribelle chapter precedes the assassination chapter. I can't see clearly, but Libra's fists are clenched. To his credit, he's clearly restraining himself from saying anything.

"And most importantly," I finish heavily. "Their goal. The Grimleal are aiming to return Grima to the realm of the living. I don't think they'll really even care if Plegia loses their war against Ylisse. If they do, they'll take advantage of everyone's despair. They want people to flock to the Grimleal, because Grima's revival calls for a ton of human sacrifices. And if they win the war, well, I'm guessing they can get sacrifices by force. To revive Grima, they'll also need the Fire Emblem and the 5 gemstones that fit into it, so it's _essential_ that Ylisse keep the Emblem away from Plegia."

I want to throw in a final aside about Valm, but I'm sensing that it's a bad idea. "Those are the key pieces of information you need to know," I say. "How can I get you to believe me?"

From Libra's body language, I feel it was a good thing to add-in that bit of lamp-shading at the end.

Libra takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. " _Naga protect us all_ ," he murmurs, running a hand through his blond hair. His eyes snap open and he looks at me intently. "Ess'ai. Do you have proof of your claims?"

I hesitate. "I'm willing to tell you, but it's hard-to-believe."

"I've noticed many oddities-" Libra starts, then cuts himself off. "Well, that's not important. I'll hear you out, Ess'ai. What is your proof?"

Explaining that he's a video game character is going to be pointlessly confusing when the concept of video games doesn't exist here. Still, I need him to understand my point of view.

"Are you familiar with the story of the Hero King, Marth?" I ask.

That throws Libra for a loop. "… Yes, but only in general."

"That's fine," I say. "Knowing what you know, if you had a chance to speak to the Hero King at the start of his journeys, to warn him of upcoming danger, what would you tell him?"

Libra looks at me oddly. "I suppose… I would warn him to stop the marriage of Princess Nyna to Emperor Hardin. Ah, and I'd warn him of Gra's betrayal, so he could evacuate his people early."

"Okay," I say noncommittally. "And-"

"Ah!" Libra says suddenly. "Though if I warned King Marth and it changed his actions-"

I smile. "Right, you have reason to believe that _even if you do nothing_ , history won't be the same. If you do nothing, it's entirely possible that Marth could lose his wars."

Libra frowns. "Then… yes, I'd warn him of Gra's betrayal, and get him to stop Emperor Hardin's corruption."

"What if Marth didn't believe you?" I prompt.

"Well," Libra muses. "I'm… not sure, actually. I don't know the details of his campaign, so I'm not sure what I could practically tell him."

I arch an eyebrow. "Thousands upon thousands of lives would be at risk, Libra. You'd settle for just warning him with no follow-up?"

Libra flushes a little. "Well, it's not as though I have _proof_ …," he trails off, and I see him make the connection between myself and our hypothetical scenario. "Naga save us, are you actually implying-"

" _Yes_. Validar wants to assassinate Exalt Emmeryn, Plegia will go to war with Ylisse soon, and Grima will be revived if action isn't taken," I say flatly. "And while you wouldn't be able to offer Marth too much proof, I _can_ offer you some."

"Wait," Libra says, and his voice sounds a bit shaken. "Give me a second."

I respect his wishes as Libra puts his head in his hands. He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes.

"Ess'ai, be clear with me. No using examples. How _exactly_ do you know what you know?" Libra asks.

"Like you've heard stories of Marth, I've heard stories of Prince Chrom and his Shepherds," I answer. It's close enough to the truth. "I'm not from Ylisse, or Valm, or Plegia, or any land that exists here, Libra."

Libra shakes his head. "I… I can't believe that."

I note his word choice. Can't, not don't.

"Well, it's not impossible, even by your world's standards," I point out. "Naga can send people through time and space, can't she?"

"What?" Libra asks. "Nothing I've read has mentioned that."

"Oh," I say, flummoxed. "Well, it's in _my_ stories back home."

Libra's falls silent, and I recognize that this isn't a time for me to speak further. He starts pacing back and forth. Occasionally he mutters something to himself.

He stops abruptly. "You said that while I wouldn't be able to offer Marth much proof, you could offer _me_ some proof," the monk says.

"Right," I say, feeling suddenly awkward. "Um… this is… kind of hard to admit."

"Ess'ai, if I'm going to believe something as utterly mad as what you're suggesting-" Libra starts.

"I know, I know," I say. "Just… don't think too poorly of me, okay?"

"… Huh?"

I exhale deeply. "Libra… you remember when I first met you, right?"

I can sense the monk rolling his eyes behind his straight face. "It's not something I'd easily forget," he remarks dryly.

I flush. "Right, right. Well, I've gotta confess something about our meeting. Right. I'm just going to come out and say it."

"Okay," Libra says patiently.

I hesitate again anyway. Stupid. What's one more tidbit on top of all the stuff I've already told him? I told myself I'd do complete disclosure, so that's what I'm going to do.

"On that night, if it were almost anyone else, I wouldn't have saved them," I admit. "… I would've just given Garm his axe and run."

Libra's stare feels heavy. "I'm not sure what you're trying to say, Ess'ai."

"The story that I've heard, the battle between Prince Chrom's Shepherds and the Fell Dragon Grima," I say. " _You're in it_. You fight with Chrom. My priority is getting this information to Chrom, but when I saw you there, I couldn't let you die. This world might not be able to afford your death."

"I… see," Libra says slowly. There's not enough light for me to see his face clearly, so I can't exactly tell how he's taking this information. "And how do you know I'm the same Libra as the one mentioned in your stories?"

"The 'spell' on me lets me see information about anyone I direct my mind to," I explain. "When my eyes are closed, specifically."

Libra breathes in sharply. "So that's why."

"Yeah…" I say. "You noticed, didn't you?"

"I'd think that you were faking it for just this moment," Libra says. "But… you were able to recognize those bandits on our way to Galt from a distance. You closed your eyes in the middle of combat with them. You did it when you first saw me."

The monk sighs and actually sits down on the hard ground. I drop down to join him. He puts his face in his hands again.

"This is madness," he says through his hands. "Impossible."

"It's the truth," I say. "As far as I'm aware, at least. I swear it."

"You didn't answer my question, though," he points out. "You didn't give me proof."

As sharp with details as ever.

"My proof is that I know things about you and the other Shepherds," I admit. Libra stiffens. "It's not too much, and it's scattered knowledge, but I know some key bits and pieces about everyone, information that a stranger could have no way of knowing. If I meet the actual Shepherds, I'm sure I'd be able to demonstrate enough knowledge to convince you."

"No one else is here, though," Libra says slowly. "So… what do you know about me?"

"Someone else _is_ here," I say. "The dancer from tonight, Olivia. She plays a role in this story, too."

"Ess'ai," Libra says softly. For the first time in our conversation, there's a clear hint of warning to his tone. "What do you know about me?"

I sigh. "I know that… your parents believed you were a demon. You've still got a mark on your body from that encounter," I say carefully. I'm fortunate that I remember his Nowi and Tharja supports. I got them relatively early in my play-through, before all the conversations started blurring together. "You were alone since then. Your faith in Naga became your rock after that… although we already had _that_ conversation earlier."

Libra stands up silently. "I… need to think about this," he says, making to leave.

Fuck. I don't blame him for being uncomfortable. Does he see me as a liar now? I've been holding onto this information since I met him, after all.

"Okay," I say to his retreating form. "But you gave your word. Don't forget."

Libra pauses. "I'll be back," he says. "Just… give me some time, okay?"

* * *

I've been sitting for what feels like an hour, waiting for Libra's return.

Should I have waited for an A-support before dumping all of this on Libra? I got his B-support much faster than I expected, after all. But who knows when we'd next be able to fight alongside each other?

I'd suspect him of outright abandoning me or going to get some authorities, but this is Libra. There's worse places for me to put my hope.

I'm fine with my decision. I can't do anything alone, especially with my atrocious stats. Managing other people and making optimal use of human resources is how you get stuff done.

I'm fine with my decision, but I still feel nervous. Libra's given me a point of focus in this world. He's anchored me to the plot. Without that, I'd feel lost.

I sigh and adjust my position on the ground. I've taken shelter next to a tree to block the weak winds. It's a little cold, but I'll deal with it. I could've told Libra to regroup with me at the church, but I'd rather not ask anything of him at the moment.

I continue to wait.

… … …

* * *

 **Dark Awakening - Now Loading**

 **Heron-Marked** _: A penalty born of the Outrealm skill "Lord of the Morning." Provokes enemies with a greater overall rating than the user._

 _The heron-mark symbolizes complete mastery of blade. While useful in intimidating weaker opponents, it's certain to draw the attention of swordmasters. The greatest warriors of their times are often so marked, in order to find and test one another in combat._

 _Those afflicted with this penalty lead difficult lives, but astute minds and brave souls could surely put the fate of the heron-marked to good use._

* * *

"Ess'ai?"

Huh? Oh, I fell asleep. I blink rapidly and see Libra looking down at me.

"Damnit," I grumble. "Leg fell asleep. Help me up?"

The monk offers me a hand. I take it and shake my leg to wake it up.

I'm freezing.

"I thought you'd head back to the Church," Libra says apologetically.

"I told you I'd wait, and you said you'd be back," I say. "That was pretty clear communication. I can't change my mind after you leave."

"Sorry," Libra says. "… It took me a while to get my head wrapped around what you told me."

"It's fine," I wave it off. "If you feel mildly bad about it, that'll make you more inclined to be nice to me or believe me. I'll take that trade-off any day."

The monk sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you tell me any of this when we met?"

"We both know why," I say.

"… I suppose so," Libra admits.

"So, what have you decided?" I ask tentatively. "Do you believe me?"

My heart is pounding fiercely for such a simple question.

Libra pauses for a bit, seemingly to get his thoughts in order. "I've thought about what you've told me," he starts, "and I've decided that this isn't something I can ignore. There's too many oddities about you that lend weight to your story, and if there actually is an assassination plot against the Exalt… well, better safe than sorry."

I let out an explosive sigh of relief. "Thank you, Libra."

He smiles sadly.

"And I noticed that you didn't say you actually believe me," I point out, and his smile becomes rueful. I cut him off before he can retort. "But that's fine. I'll settle for this, too, so long as we both get the outcome we want and the Exalt lives."

Emmeryn living past the assassination attempt is okay with me. She's such a martyr that she'll probably find another way to die, anyway.

"I still have several questions," Libra says as we walk back towards the church. "Like how you know history won't go the same way it did in your stories."

I stop.

"Ess'ai?" Libra pauses and turns back to look at me.

"I wasn't going to bring this up today," I say. "But there's another big aspect to this story that I can tell you of, if you want."

"… There's more?" Libra says incredulously. "Let's have it, I suppose."

"Right," I say. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Libra, have you heard of something called the Darksign?"

* * *

 **A/N: It's amusing to me how much screen-time Libra's been getting as a result of both him and the protagonist being alive and together at this point. I wasn't expecting to write any of these scenes going in.**

 **Still, this is why I find roll-based writing fun.**

 **Happy New Years, amigos!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: The slow update rate is unavoidable for me right now, but I'll try to get out what I can. Thanks for the feedback so far, amigos!**

* * *

There's no immediate recognition of the name. His eyes light up when I describe it, though.

"A brand in the shape of a fiery circle?" Libra asks, covering his mouth to hide a yawn. "Like the one on your back, then?"

Whoa, hold the phone. " _What?_ "

We've stopped outside the church. We're both clearly cold and tired, but this is a priority conversation.

Libra looks a little embarrassed. "I noticed it when I was healing you."

Right, that myrmidon bandit cut me across the back.

"That was days ago," I note, surprised.

"It didn't seem like something I should pry into," Libra answers my unspoken question. "You didn't know?"

"I _suspected_ I had it on my body, but no, I wasn't sure," I say. I take a second to think through my next words.

Libra's confused and surprised, but he's still on the fence about me as a person. I don't think I should reveal Risenfication right now. Travel through time-and-space is unbelievable, but it doesn't expressly clash with Libra's beliefs. The dead returning to life _does_.

Libra's still going along with me because I've been helpful and reasonable over the last several days, and now I've revealed a plot against the Exalt. I've given him something to focus on. I've got to be careful here.

"The Darksign is a brand that's significant in _another_ story, completely separate from the tale of the Shepherds and Grima," I say eventually. "Its presence is why I believe things here won't go entirely as I've heard."

"If it's only on you, though, and you're from another world," Libra starts hesitantly, clearly still unsure if he's willing to believe me on that front, "does it really mean anything?"

I frown. "I'm not sure, but I think it's more likely yes than no. In the original stories, the Darksign affected multiple people, not just one."

I catch something, a flicker in Libra's eyes, a slight wariness.

"It doesn't spread from me, though!" I point out hastily. "In the original stories, the Darksign appeared independently of its bearers."

Best not to mention that the Undead were all corralled into prisons and asylums.

His posture relaxes a little. "But I gather it's still a bad thing to have?" Libra prompts, picking up on my tone.

I grimace. "Maybe? I'm not entirely sure. I feel like the Darksign _could_ be advantageous for me, but on a whole, for this world? It's probably a bad thing."

I shake my head. "Anyway, my point is this: the Darksign shouldn't be in this world. Now that it is, I doubt the original stories that I've heard of the Shepherds will come to pass."

"What does it do, though?" Libra asks, and I hesitate. "If you're thinking your words over so carefully, it can't be anything good," he adds.

I sigh. I can think of one way to end this conversation. "The Darksign can be activated, though I don't know how. When it's activated… the bearer dies."

Libra's eyes widen and he backs up a step. "Oh, Ess'ai…"

"The mechanics of it aren't too important," I say. I feel a little bad for completely misleading Libra. My current phrasing implies that someone's holding a metaphorical sword to my throat, but it's not like anyone other than a bearer can trigger their own Darksign.

"How can that possibly be _good_?" Libra asks, shaking his head. Then he freezes. "Ess'ai, you're not-"

"Look, it's not too important," I repeat. Oh c'mon, that's the same expression he wore when he thought I was trying to go atoner on him. I'm not suicidal! "Mostly, I wanted to know if you'd heard of it, or seen it on anyone else. If you haven't…"

Libra shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, Ess'ai, but I haven't."

Well, this is sort-of the result I was going for. I've found out that Libra doesn't know about the Darksign, and while he now knows that it's bad he likely won't pry further.

If that look of sympathy is anything to go by, he probably thinks I was asking him because I was looking for someone like myself. I'm going to be a bit of a scumbag and not correct his assumptions.

Honesty is good. _Complete_ honesty is a little too dangerous. I can't have Libra mistrust me because of my potential for becoming an Undead yet.

A really awkward silence falls over us. Libra coughs into his throat.

"Well," he says, "I think we can finalize anything else tomorrow. Would you like to return to the Church for tonight, Ess'ai?"

I nod mutely. Looking at Libra's open expression, it's a little hard to shake off this stupid, vaguely guilty feeling. By the time we re-enter the church, we're the only ones awake. There's no candlelight, so Libra and I slowly stumble our way to a room shared by Jan and Bran.

Sleeping on a cot in a church reminds me of Elder Scrolls. I fall asleep with a small smile.

* * *

I wake up to a new day and the sound of heavy snores. Blinking my eyes to chase away remnants of sleep, I sit up and stretch my arms.

Libra and Bran are gone. Jan's still dead asleep, though it's well past sunrise.

I leave Jan behind and idly explore the Church for a lack of anything better to do. The Church doesn't get much traffic, so I find a few books and skim them, sitting on a pew. They're religious texts. I wouldn't normally be interested, but this is about Naga, who I might actually run into someday.

"The Divine Winds howl, and solitude shatters," I quote. Texts on Naga are rather flowery. "Huh."

"It's a mix of story-telling and poetry," Libra says.

"Gah!" I jump. "When'd you get here?"

Libra hides his grin behind a straight-face, as usual. "Good morning to you as well, Ess'ai," he says.

"Uh, morning," I say. "Wait, no! How'd you sneak up on me like that?"

"I made plenty of noise," he says frankly. "You just weren't paying attention."

"Oh," I say. "Guess I need to work on my situational awareness."

I sigh when Libra nods sagely.

"So," Libra starts, "I've been thinking about what you said last night."

I nod. "Yeah. Planning time?"

"There's a few things we need to iron out, yes," Libra agrees. "I've spoken with Father Bran – don't give me that face, I was circumspect – and we agree that we need to get word to the Grand Cathedral in Ylisstol, as well as to the Exalt."

"And tell them what, exactly?" I prompt, curious.

"You've been thinking on this more than I have," Libra says. "What was your general plan?"

"To basically tell them what I told you," I admit. "Validar's the head of the Grimleal and can't be trusted, Gangrel's going to start a war soon, and there's going to be an assassination attempt on the Exalt, so they need to be on guard. They can use that information however they want."

"I meant more along the lines of _how_ you're going to do that," Libra says. "Are you planning on going to Ylisstol?"

I've been musing on this for a while already, so I shake my head. "Probably Ferox," I say. "I don't have enough proof to convince Exalt Emmeryn, but I know enough about Prince Chrom and the Shepherds that I might be able to convince them. I'm going to try to meet with Chrom instead of the Exalt."

Libra has a troubled expression on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it. "I don't see how that's related to Ferox," he eventually notes. I have a feeling that's not what he was originally going to say.

"Chrom should be going to Ferox soon to request aid against Plegia," I reveal, finger raised. "The East and West Khans will be hosting a tournament to determine a ruler for Ferox, and Chrom will participate to secure the aid of one of the Khans. I'd rather look for him where I know he's going to eventually be."

I'm not going to try to get to Southtown or the earlier chapters. With my luck, I'll end up there too late, and have to follow them on a merry goose chase. Hah. Let's just circumvent that whole arc, shall we?

"I'd like to speak to Olivia soon, to see when the tournament is being held. She should know, since one of her friends will be representing the West Khan," I tack on. I'm pretty sure that Olivia's going to be there in person. I remember some canon artwork featured her watching over a match with Basilio nearby.

"Olivia? Ah, the dancer from yesterday," Libra says. "That is… not an altogether bad plan."

I frown. "What's the matter?"

"Well," Libra hesitates. "May I be honest?"

I nod firmly.

"I like you, Ess'ai. You feel almost like a kindred spirit," Libra starts. "I felt it from when we first fought together. Though I've known you only for a few days, I feel close to you."

I blink. "Um. Thanks."

"But even _I'm_ still trying to figure out whether or not you're mad," Libra finishes. "I think I'm closer to believing you than not, but I've had _time_. If you go to Prince Chrom and tell him what you told me…"

"You don't think he'll believe me?"

"Exactly," Libra says emphatically. "It'd probably be better if you just told him that you couldn't reveal your sources for now."

"I guess that's an option," I hedge.

"Trust me on this, Ess'ai," he says. "If you're truly not from this time, then perhaps you simply don't understand how mad your claims sound. But I can guarantee you this: if you tell almost anyone else what you told me, _they will not believe you_."

His tone cuts through all of my defenses and arguments.

"I'm not saying that you can't tell the… truth, eventually," he adds on gently. "But should you choose to, give it time. As you did for me," he finishes.

I nod. "Alright, fair advice. So don't reveal my story to anyone right away?"

He nods back.

"Noted," I say. "Moving on, that's the gist of my plan. What about you?"

"Ylisstol," Libra answers immediately. "If the Grimleal are planning on resurrecting Grima, then the Grand Cathedral will know what to do. At the same time, I can pass on a warning to Her Grace – if you have specifics, though, it'd be appreciated."

"Perhaps I can write a letter with all the important details for you," I say.

"Or you can come with me," Libra says. "Father Bran shouldn't be travelling as much as he has, so he'll be staying here in either case to look after the children. You'd be welcome for the trip."

I nod. "That's an idea, though I don't know how much good I'd do. I still think warning Chrom directly is a good idea."

" _Prince_ Chrom," Libra corrects. "You might be able to see him in Ylisstol. Unless you think he's going to Ferox right away?"

"I've got no idea," I confess. "I need to speak to Olivia and the performers to figure out when to tournament is, and take it from there."

Libra nods decisively. "Leave that to me. Why not get started on your letter for the Exalt?"

I raise my eyebrows. "You sure?"

He gives me a rare smile. "Trust me."

I get started on my letter.

* * *

I lock myself away in the Church to think. I'm going to tell Emmeryn about everything, Valm included. It sacrifices some early-game credibility and makes me look crazy, but if I'm eventually proven right about Gangrel and Validar, I'm hoping they'll take me seriously about Walhart and Grima.

The rest is an exercise in phrasing. And learning how to use quills. I've ruined a perfectly good piece of parchment paper, but I'm writing in a tiny font for the practice. I want my final letter to look perfect.

Inkblots, stop it. You're making this harder than it needs to be.

My back and wrist are stiff when I'm finally done, hours later. I sigh in relief as I stretch. The letter itself is pretty short, but I wanted to make every word count. It's an art.

Then I realize I forgot to mention anything about Gaius in my letter and scowl. Bah. Time to start again. I keep the old draft as a back-up, just in case.

When I'm finally done my re-write, I find Libra getting his hair done up in a braid again. The girl behind him hums as she threads her fingers through his hair.

"How'd it go?" I ask.

"I'll be able to speak to Olivia tonight," Libra answers, eyes closed. "Though they made it clear that I'll have to attend tonight's performance, too."

His tone is casual, but there's the slightest bit of pink in his cheeks.

The child fixing up Libra's hair perks at that. "We're going again?"

"Just me tonight, I'm afraid," Libra lets her down gently. "You've got reading exercises tonight, remember?"

The girl pouts, then brightens. "Oh, but you'll see the pretty dancer, right? I wanna be as pretty as her, someday!"

Libra nods. The girl continues to chirp away as she finishes Libra's braid. "You should marry her, Uncle Libra! Then you can be our parents and we'll be the prettiest family ever!"

I choke down on my laughter for the sake of the girl. There's no mistaking it. Libra _is_ blushing.

"I think you're on to something," I agree. "A noble priest sneaking off in the night to visit a travelling dancer? And not wanting anyone else present? There might be something there!"

"Ess'ai!" Libra opens his eyes to glare at me, but the damage is done. The girl gasps. I can't tell if she's old enough to be faking her astonishment. She's what, seven? "Ess'ai is just joking. _Aren't you_ , _Ess'ai_?"

"Of course," I say sincerely.

I don't think the girl was convinced by Libra's denials. She bounces off, probably to gossip with the other orphans.

Libra cradles his head in a hand. "Oh, you've done it now."

"Let the children have their stories," I say. "You two _would_ make a pretty couple."

Hey, I ship it.

"W-why are we having this conversation?" Libra asks. "I don't know Olivia at all! I mean, she's certainly beautiful, but-"

"I know, I know," I laugh it off. "Just messing with you."

Libra's eyes narrow. "Wait. Ess'ai, I'm almost afraid to ask, but… in your story, do you know if… if I…"

"If you get married?" I finish for him.

Libra's hesitation gives him away. I've got to laugh, because come on. Fire Emblem and Shipping. I don't know where to start.

"I think we should just leave it at 'it's complex and I don't know for sure'," I say eventually. "You two _could_ make for a decent couple, but I certainly don't know if that's how it's going to play out."

Libra just groans. Hoho, is he shy? It's surprisingly refreshing. Most of the other townsfolk are way less prudish than I'd expected for a medieval-era world.

I take mercy on him. "So, since we've got some time until tonight's performance, I had an idea…"

Libra hears me out for all of 30 seconds.

"You want to _what_?!"

* * *

It turns out I can't use my auto-attack on dummy targets. They don't register as viable targets to my mind's eye. Human allies, on the other hand…

"Stand still." I sigh as my arrow whizzes through the space Libra was occupying.

"I can't truthfully say that I'm sorry," the monk admits. "It's instinct to move when you're being attacked."

"Hitting you is the point of this exercise," I remind him.

"I know, I know," he says. "If this works as you say it will, Ess'ai..."

"It will," I say confidently. "Alright, let's try again?"

Libra nods. We're well outside the city walls of Galt so that no one can see what we're doing. From a distance, it'll look like we're just training.

Which we are, in a sense. Mostly, I want to figure out the mechanics of some of my powers while I'm still with an ally. To start off with, what happens when I attack someone with a defense higher than my total attack?

I breathe deeply to clear my head. It's a beautiful day out. A little warm, with the sun well overhead. Libra looks at me warily. Even with a Mend staff on hand, I'm touched that he's going along with this.

I close my eyes, and my character page appears. I take a second to examine my secondary stats.

 **Ess'ai  
Outrealmer**

Atk: 7  
Hit: 107  
Crit: 1  
Avo: 15

It hasn't improved much since I last checked, but it's something.

I think _Attack_ and focus my mind's eye on Libra. It's not a completely intuitive system for me, but it's still pretty fast. Within a few seconds, my combat forecast appears.

 **Ess'ai**  
HP: 20

Atk: 0  
Hit: 75  
Crit: 0

 **Libra**  
HP: 44

Atk: -  
Hit: -  
Crit: -

"Remember," I say, opening my eyes. "Suppress your instincts if you can. Don't dodge."

Libra nods quietly, but he still looks understandably tense. When I re-open the combat forecast, my hit rate has changed to 100%, though my attack remains at 0.

So, it's kind of like when you're fighting Greil in Fire Emblem 9. Stats and percentages can change if a person tries to hold back.

 _Attack_. My body goes through the motions immediately. Eyes open. Bow up. Sight, draw, fire. Libra flinches, but is otherwise still.

 _Ping_.

The arrow clatters harmlessly off of the leather jerkin he borrowed from the town guard. The monk lets out a shaky breath.

"It worked," he says incredulously. "You actually – it – _how_?"

He bends down to pick up the arrow that I fired at him. It's sitting in the dirt. Somehow, the shaft splintered when Libra blocked it.

"Did you hear that noise?" he continues. "It sounded as though metal was clashing, but this is all I'm wearing…"

We looked for that friendly guard from yesterday, to ask if we could borrow his armor for a few hours. He was agreeable enough, though he asked for Libra's killer axe as collateral.

"I honestly don't think that the armor makes a difference," I say. Libra's class still shows up as War Monk, so there's no stat changes provided by changing outfits. "I could fire this at you point-blank and I wouldn't be able to hurt you."

Libra still looks stunned, but he's more willing to experiment now that he's seen something clearly impossible happen.

My next experiment is trying to attack him while standing adjacent to him. When I close my eyes and think to attack, my body forces me to run away to gain some distance. Then, with a smooth pivot, I bring up my bow, aim, and fire.

 _Ping_.

This time, my arrow clatters harmlessly against Libra's _hand_. The monk is silent, staring alternatively at his palm and myself.

I want to try to attack from a distance next, to determine my exact attack range. Libra nods silently, so I jog back several hundred feet, keeping the monk in my line-of-sight.

 _Attack_.

Then I'm dashing forward, barely aware of my movements as my fingers fit an arrow to my borrowed bow. Sight, draw, loose, ping.

I blink when I realize I'm breathing hard. It's no surprise. My auto-pilot mode was able to force my body to drink Estus even when I was in critical condition, back when I fought against those bandits.

I suspect that it ignores everything at the expense of completing any given command. Dangerous, but very useful.

Libra's gauging the distance between us. "Around... 20 yards, I'd say?"

"Let's check," I answer, marking the spot from where I fired with an arrow. Libra watches with amusement as I place my feet in front of each other, trying to follow a straight line to the monk.

"That's an unusual method of measuring distance," he notes as I reach him.

"It's reliable enough," I answer absently. "60 feet. So yeah, 20 yards."

How does this world have yards as a measurement of distance – wait, maybe it's a translation skill thing. In any case, it's not like I can check when I don't know the history of the word in my own world.

"Are you done testing, then?" Libra prompts. He looks like he's hoping for a yes.

"No," I say instead. "But feel free to start dodging again."

The arrows that hit Libra are all breaking. I'm still gaining weapon EXP, being over half-way to rank D, but I should gain that regardless of if I hit or miss.

Next up – if I try to fire from next to him, what distance does my body run back to before I turn around to fire? It turns out to also be 60 feet. However, 4 more arrows reveal that so long as I begin my shot with at least 30 feet of distance between us, I'll fire immediately without running backwards first. Interesting.

Libra takes off his armor and switches back into normal robes eventually. It's way too hot for leather, and it's clear my arrows can't hurt him.

Anyway, I only need a few more shots, so I ask Libra to try his hardest to avoid my next attack. My hit rate remains at 75%, but I miss. Then I get a prompt.

 _Bows reached rank_ _ **D**_.

Another 20 shots should get me up to rank C and grant me the +1 bonus damage to all enemies. Is it worth the loss of my Hush arrows, though?

I think about it as Libra and I gather my stray, non-broken arrows. I find 4 of them, bringing up my supplementary bronze arrow count to 5.

"One second," I say absently to Libra.

 _Bronze arrow_. _Use item_.

My body moves an arrow into my pouch. I check my inventory.

 **Hush 36/50** (E)

 **Bronze arrow (4)**

 _Yes!_ It's like a make-shift armsthrift. Granted, it only works when I miss opponents, but still, I can re-used missed arrows so long as I find them again and they aren't broken.

I need to test this with arrows that I didn't get from Roll. If I can replenish uses of a forged bow with regular arrows, that'll be useful. In the meantime, I use up the remaining 4 arrows to return them to Hush, giving it 40/50 uses.

"Strange," Libra says, examining some shattered arrows. "The way in which these arrows broke upon me doesn't make any sense."

"The fact that a fully drawn arrow can't pierce your skin doesn't make any sense," I say, drawing attention to the bigger puzzle. "Though your attention to detail is as impressive as always."

We take a quick breather. "Anything else you want to try out while we're here?" Libra asks as we sit directly on the ground. He's gathered up the rest of the broken arrows. I let him keep them, since I can't do anything with them right now.

"I think I've tested out most of what I wanted to test," I say. "Although, I can get a little bit stronger and better by firing more arrows."

"Well, yes, training is important with any weapon, but perhaps for today-" Libra starts.

"No, I mean that with exactly another 20 shots I'll literally do around 15% more damage with this bow," I say, grinning when Libra just stares. "Yet another quirk."

Libra exhales sharply. "The more I see, Ess'ai… well, that's not important. Still, I think that's enough for today."

His tone catches me off guard. "Huh? You think I should conserve my arrows?"

He shakes his head and stands up, dusting off his robes. "That's not it."

I give him all of my attention. "What's bothering you?"

"Have you already forgotten our earlier conversations?" he asks plainly. I draw back with a wince.

"Libra," I say. "I'm – I'm not trying to become stronger so that I can go start fights. I want to become stronger because dangerous times are ahead for all of us, and I want to be ready."

He doesn't look happy with my answer. "I know. I'm sure that you'll only use that bow in self-defense, but seeing the nature of your strength…"

He trails off, looking disturbed. I'm feeling vaguely guilty again, though I know I haven't done anything wrong.

"C'mon. What's wrong?"

Libra seems to be unsure, himself. He thinks for a while before he comes up with an answer. "You look strange when you use that bow," he finally says.

"Can you explain a bit further?"

The monk tugs his still firm braid lightly. "It's… you know when you stood close to me, and then ran back to attack?" He continues on even before I finish nodding. "Your motions and the way you turned around to raise your bow… it felt cold. It gave me a bad feeling."

I consider it a mark of friendship that I don't discount his words immediately because of how little intuitive sense they make to me, choosing instead to think it over.

"That makes sense," I admit. Libra looks up at me, a little surprised. "What? It's true. When I tell my body to attack or heal, it's not _me_ that's actively doing anything. My body goes through the motions on its own, so it's natural that my body language changes. I guess you're picking up on that."

I mean, it's not like I know what I look like while I'm auto-piloting.

"And since my body isn't considering anything but that last command I gave it… I'm sure it must look a little unnatural," I finish.

Libra looks relieved that I seem to have some sort of explanation. "Unnatural. Yes, that's the word I'd use to describe it."

"Still," I continue. "I'd _really_ like to get in those 20 shots…"

Libra looks away awkwardly. Argh, what am I thinking? I've been continually shooting at him with a bow, and now I'm saying I want him to go through it again 20 more times.

This isn't a game of stats to him like it is to me. And it can't be easy to just tank arrows freely. As Libra says, it's unnatural to him.

"That said," I amend. "Forget about it, for now. Let's just enjoy the weather?"

Reluctantly, the monk sits back down. He lays down soon after, seemingly uncaring about getting dirt on his robes. I join him.

This isn't a life-or-death situation, but it's still representative of a larger moral dilemma. Given that I actually have time to think, I decide to re-orient my mind.

It's a little worrying that Logic and Humanity are two labels that I'm using to debate _opposite_ viewpoints. I close my eyes and think.

 _You just made a mistake that you need to go back and correct_ , Logic says immediately. _Having around 25 arrows and a C-rank is better than 40 arrows with a D-rank._

 _Nope_ , Humanity says. _Having 40 arrows, a D-rank_ and _a better friendship with Libra beats the C-rank._

 _You're understating the value of weapon rank. When will you find a willing target for 20 more arrows? You won't, and unlike real archers you can't get better by firing at nothing. You'll have to earn experience in battle, and every single shot there will be hard-earned. Libra's among the most understanding of the Shepherds_ and _you're supported to him. Don't waste this chance._

 _Any more is pushing it,_ Humanity says. _Libra's very, very clearly uncomfortable and we've already got the D-rank. Drop it._

 _Or what?_ Logic points out. _We'll lose our B-support?_

I give Logic some credit. So long as I don't do anything drastic, it's not like there are any _objective_ disadvantages. I doubt that support bonuses change depending on the subtleties of relationships.

 _Nice. Now you're thinking of Libra as a walking support buff?_ Humanity's mental tone is flat. _You're treating this like a game. Weren't you just thinking earlier of how you wanted to treat him like a real person, considering he's 1 of the only 2 people in this world you can viably support?_

 _If he's going to be our friend, we should be able to_ actually _talk to him_ , Logic counters. _Are you going to avoid uncomfortable topics and avoid getting stronger for the sake of feelings? We want to get to C-rank for all of our sakes. Don't tip-toe around the issue out of awkwardness, you pansy._

 _You can wait until we meet Robin, then. I'm sure_ she'll _appreciate stat grinding,_ Humanity says, before trying a different approach. _But Libra's already gone out of his comfort zone to help you out. What have we done for him?_

 _We fought together and saved each other's lives. We helped with that escort mission_ , Logic says. _And if Libra wants something of us at any time, we'll give it. If we're friends, then we'll do each other favours at no cost. Right now, he can easily grant us a favour and there's no disadvantages for anyone. This shouldn't even be a debate._

 _The issue is being a good friend_ , Humanity says. _It's not a question of optimization. Libra's uncomfortable, and this is a non-essential perk you're looking for. He doesn't want to do it, so let it go. It's as simple as that._

The wind is breezing nicely as we lay on the earth. Just enjoying the sunlight is nice. I tilt my head to look at Libra. His eyes are open, looking blankly at the sky.

How funny would it be if Libra could hear my thoughts right now?

"What're you thinking about?" I find myself asking.

"All the strange and curious ways in which Naga acts," he answers.

I hum acknowledgement.

 _He likely considers the matter settled_ , Humanity says. _It'll be awkward to bring up in a new conversation._ _One more point for letting the rank-farming drop._

 _Please. Objectivity should decide our choices, not awkwardness_ , Logic says coolly. _If getting a rank-up is the best decision, then we're bringing it up again._

"You know, none of the holy books on Naga, or even Grima that I've heard of, mention how this world was created," Libra says eventually. "Was it Naga?"

His question is rhetorical, but I answer anyway. "I doubt it, but who knows for sure?"

"… It's a nice world, though," Libra says eventually. "I wish we didn't have to deal with violence, and bandits and theft. If everyone could just get along, it'd be nice."

"Yeah," I agree. Even laying under the hot Plegian sun can be serene. "Hey, Libra?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy right now?"

"No."

I glance at him, but he doesn't elaborate, eyes still gazing skyward. After a moment, he relents. "But looking at this sky and enjoying the quiet… I feel both happy and sad at the same time."

"So melancholic," I observe idly. Didn't Robin say the same thing about him in a support? "Yeah, that word suits you."

Libra smiles slightly. "And you? Are you happy?"

"I've got every reason to be," I answer.

"That doesn't answer my question," he notes.

I think about it. "Yeah, I'm happy."

"I see," he answers.

I'm feeling whimsical. And sentimental.

"Libra?"

"Yes?"

Logic won't rest until I ask. "Would you rather I not shoot those extra 20 arrows?"

"I'd rather you not, but if you really want to, we can do it."

I can easily convince him. It's the optimal thing to do.

"Nah, that's fine," I say.

"Thanks."

We pass the time in peace, until Libra decides we need to head back.

* * *

Libra and I both end up attending tonight's performance. It's the same routine as last night, but it's just as enchanting as it was the first time around. We hang around afterwards to speak with the troupe.

Or rather, Libra is speaking to their apparent head, an elderly woman by the name of Nerine. He's been in the caravan for nearly a half-hour now. I'm waiting outside, watching the last of the straggling crowd disappear and fighting the temptation to eavesdrop.

I shiver. Plegia's as cold at night as it is warm in the day. When another half-hour passes, I decide to approach the caravan door. I can barely hear anything – wait, is that giggling?

"Ah, Libra?" I call tentatively, knocking on the door. "Is everything alright?"

I hear a thud and a muffled exclamation and – yeah, that's definitely giggling. "Be right out, Ess'ai!"

I'm going to ignore the fact that he sounds a little harried. I dutifully step back and resume waiting for the monk.

When Libra emerges, it's with Nerine at his side. From underneath a mop of stringy white hair, her beady eyes find my own. She has a surprisingly alert and piercing gaze for such an old woman.

The woman walks up right next to me and pokes me in the chest. "Ess'ai?"

She doesn't even give me time to nod before she continues on. "We're leaving for Ferox the day after. Be outside the north entrance before sunrise. Don't be late."

She pokes me once more in the chest for good measure before shuffling off back into the caravan.

"Well," I say, blinking as Libra sighs in relief. "You must be one heck of a convincing speaker."

"I did not say anything that was untrue," Libra says in answer. "Also, bless you for knocking."

"… So, I think I've got to ask at this point," I say. "What was going on in there?"

" _Nothing_ ," Libra says, a little hurriedly. "I vouched for you, and they were willing to take me at my word."

I raise my eyebrows. "And that took an hour? I figured there must've been some serious debating going on- are those _flowers_ in your hair?"

"Yes they are, Ess'ai," Libra answers wearily. "Yes they are."

I blink at him, and then clap him on the shoulder. "Your sacrifice is acknowledged, buddy. I shall inquire no further."

I'm lying, but I can at least give him some time to recover before I prod him for details.

* * *

My last day in Galt is spent preparing for my trip to Ferox, playing with the children, talking to Libra and reviewing my plans. Libra confirmed that the tournament is in around 3 weeks' time. That means that the Plegian war is coming really, really soon.

I'm trying to make sure I'm not making any stupid mistakes. The most obvious thing I might be doing wrong is splitting the party. I'm safe with Libra, and so long as I stick to him it's probable that I'll _eventually_ find my way to the Shepherds.

I'm probably being greedy right now, trying to get to the Shepherds as quickly as possible. That said, I don't think I'm taking much of a risk. Olivia should make it safely to Ferox, so if I stick with her, I'm safe by proxy.

Unless the Dark Souls wildcard has screwed canon. I have no way of telling as it is.

I manage to squeeze in a little bit more experimenting with Libra. It turns out I can't hurt him with blunt objects at all, even if I swing them with all of my might. That's… kind of depressing, since that means surprise attacks are out of the window. I'm hoping that changes as my strength goes up.

I also tease Libra a bit about Olivia, and I'm rewarded with a blush from the usually stoic monk. Hah! As I expected, not even he's immune to the hotness that is Awakening's dancer. He still won't tell me what went on in that caravan last night. I'd be jealous if I didn't know Libra was, well, _Libra_.

I give him my letter for Emmeryn on our final night together. I've made one for her to read directly, and another copy for Libra that summarizes key points. He can approach her however he wants, and use my letter at his own discretion.

In turn, he offers me a small book of poems on Naga. I turn it down. They seem to be well-written, but I don't want to take away the limited reading material available to the children. Instead, Libra and I while away the hours talking about some of his particular favourites.

It's a pleasant end to our nights together.

* * *

Dawn hasn't yet broken. Libra and I walk through the silent streets of Galt, dirt crunching underneath our boots.

"You're sure I can't convince you to join me on the road to Ylisstol?" Libra asks again.

"You probably could, actually," I say, smiling wryly. "But then your sacrifice in the caravan would be in vain."

"And we certainly can't have that," Libra agrees with a nod. I still haven't figured out how he seems to smile behind a completely straight face.

"Speaking of which-" I try.

"No," Libra replies instantly.

"I'll find out what happened someday," I warn him. "And when I do, I shall be relentless in my heckling."

"If that is what Naga wills," Libra says, no longer hiding his smile. "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

I nod. "I'm not sure what exactly my part in this story is supposed to be, but so long as I meet up with Chrom, yeah. We'll see each other again."

We walk out under the archway of Galt's entrance with impeccable timing. Libra takes a few steps ahead of me, then turns his head to face me.

"Until then, Ess'ai."

I give him a two-finger salute as he heads out. He'll be walking a few miles before he picks up a carriage to another Plegian town, and from there another town, and then he'll walk to the border.

I think Libra infected me with his melancholy before he left. I feel sad as I watch him go. It's only natural, I suppose. He was my first real friend in this world.

That doesn't stop a thrill of excitement from shooting through me when I finally hear the traveler's caravan rumble its way to the town entrance.

It's time to see what Regna Ferox has to offer.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I still don't have too much free time to write. I'm going to be particularly busy until the end of May, at which point I have no idea what my schedule will be like. C'est la vie.**

 **I've been getting some great feedback from you guys! I've changed the probabilities of certain events transpiring based on what you guys expressed interest in. The dice is the final judge, of course.**

 **Thanks for the reviews, favs, and follows so far, everyone!**

* * *

I'm dancing behind the setting sun. The caravan is nearby, with most of the troupe inside. Olivia never mentions them canonically, so I'm pleasantly surprised when they turn out to be a pretty cool mix of people. I've quickly become partial to Adam. The bishounen dancer is watching me with critical eyes.

"Stomp, and stomp, and pause!"

I hold my position. It's a little awkward, but acceptable. Adam walks a quick circle around me, analyzing my form. He nods and resumes clapping his hands with a steady beat.

"And go! One-two, three-four, one-two, three-four."

My focus is absolute. My steps are immaculate. I am the bone of my dance.

"Finishing in 5… 4… 3…"

Damn, I need a finishing move. C'mon, I can think of something!

"2… 1…!"

I jump, slamming my hand onto my thigh for emphasis and landing in a crouch. I hold my hands out and _nice_ , I think I nailed it. Jiraiya would be proud if he existed. This is a really hard-to-hold pose, though.

There's clapping and it's not coming from Adam _who else is here_ –

"Not bad, boy!"

A raspy voice. Thank Naga, it's just Nerine. "Thanks," I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead. The old woman is sitting patiently on the ground nearby. "How long were you here?"

"A few minutes," the old woman says innocently. Her crafty smile hints that there's something she's not telling me, but I know I won't get it out of her.

"How did you get so close without me noticing? Again?" I ask, exasperated.

"Maybe you're just bad at noticing things?" she asks back, head tilted.

"Am not." I'm great at witty retorts.

"You are," the woman says back confidently. Ouch. "You don't mind me watching, do you?"

"You're not going to go away even if I say no, are you?"

"No."

"Then nah, I don't mind," I say. "So long as it's just you and Adam."

" _Ahem_ ," Adam walks up and claps me on the shoulder. "So, your sense of rhythm is good! That's the hardest part to get down. I think we could make you one of us in a few months!"

"Wow, really?" I ask, surprised. We both know that I'm only staying with them temporarily, but it's the thought that counts. "I wouldn't mind getting in more practice with you every now and then, if you're okay with it."

"Sounds good," the dancer agrees. "Do you want to keep going for tonight?"

I'm about to agree when I see his eyes flicker to the caravan and then back to me. "I'd love to," I say aloud. "Thanks again. I appreciate you letting me practice without an audience. I just _hate_ having too many eyes on me."

Too obvious? Oh well. The small smile Adam gives confirms my suspicions about being watched.

"Nerine and I won't say a word," he reassures me unnecessarily. "Although… why don't you grab us some water before we continue?"

"Right!" I agree, turning on the spot and jogging towards the caravan. "Be right back!"

If I move fast enough, I'm sure I can catch them in the act.

The body of the caravan blocks my vision of the door, but I hear people moving nearby, and catch a flash of pink. I hear a soft clatter just as the door comes into view. I knock twice and then, instead of waiting like I usually do, barge right in.

The inside of the caravan is a bit cramped, but the stout wood and cheery colours give it a homely feel. The only light comes through small windows, but it's more than enough to see by.

"Hey everyone, what's up?" I ask brightly, moving to grab a water-skin. My eyes flicker over everyone. Rock is too straight-forward to have been spying, so I immediately discount the burly man. Yahen isn't even here, so I guess all of the guys are in the clear.

The three women of the troupe are all relaxing nonchalantly, but only Elice makes eye contact with me when I come in. Shaya and Olivia are pointedly not meeting my gaze.

"Not much," Elice says innocently. I ignore her. Adam's sister is a dangerously good actress. I focus on the weak link.

"Hey Olivia, you're breathing pretty hard," I note, feigning concern. "You okay?"

"Ah!" Olivia's eyes dart up at me and then back down immediately. "Y-yes! Perfectly fine!"

Not bad for her usual standards, but that's not saying much. "You sure?" I push. "You seem a little flustered."

"Ah-hah, d-do I?" she laughs nervously. "Must be the weather!"

"The weather," I repeat, even as Shaya winces at Olivia's slip-up. "The weather inside the caravan. That weather."

"Umm…" Gotcha! Confess your sins!

Elice finally groans. "Alright, alright. We were watching you, sheesh! Stop bullying Olivia, already."

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you," I sigh, and the dancer grins right back.

"Ah, well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" Shaya chips in. The troupe's singer seems to have forgotten her earlier embarrassment as she forges on. "I mean, you're really good for a beginner!"

"Thanks," I say. "Though I'm not a _complete_ beginner."

"Oh," Elice says. "And here I thought you might have some natural talent. Guess I was wrong?"

"Elice!" Olivia says, red-faced. She turns to face me, eyes still facing down. " _I'mreallysorryforwatchingyoudon'tbemad!_ "

I feel like I kicked a puppy. "Hey, I'm not actually mad. I was just messing with you guys. Adam was in on it."

Olivia breathes out a sigh of relief – seriously, it's way too easy to frazzle her, but Elice gets a dangerous glint in her eye. "Was he, now?"

 _Creak._ "If Ess'ai is saying anything bad about me, he's a liar," the troupe's only male dancer says lazily as he closes the door behind him.

"He was just telling us how you were involved in pranking our dear, sweet Olivia," Elice says.

"Nuh-uh, don't think you can make me feel guilty for something _you_ were doing," Adam replies easily. He shakes his head in faux-helplessly at me, gesturing to the others. "Women, right?"

I raise my hands up when Elice's eyes narrow. "No comment," I say tactfully.

The rest of the evening passes in playful banter, until the lack of light makes it impossible to see and we all head to sleep. We get to our first village the next morning.

* * *

I applaud along with the villagers of Padstow as Adam and Elice dance. The pair are an immediate hit.

It's cool watching everyone perform now that I've gotten to know them a bit. I've already seen the dancer siblings' routine, so I spend a little more time focusing on Yahen, Rock and Nerine as they provide the background music.

Rock's skin is glistening as he slams his massive hands in a steady beat.

 _Drum-drum-DRUM!_

Yahen is playing a horn that I don't recognize, and I'm pretty sure that Nerine is, in fact, using a sitar. The older woman probably doesn't have the constitution to use the other instruments.

I hear Shaya shifting behind me. "Oh, sorry," I say, moving to give her room to get past me.

She chooses to peer over my shoulder instead. "Don't worry, I've still got a few minutes," she says, stepping back.

"Not gonna wear a hood up this time?" I ask.

Shaya tilts her head. "Hood…? Are you talking about our performance in Galt?"

I nod, and Shaya laughs with a secretive smile. Outside, I hear the roar of cheering that probably indicates that Olivia has taken the floor.

"What am I missing here?" I ask quizzically.

The singer winks at me. "Keep your eyes and ears on me today, and maybe you'll figure it out."

I'm glad that I don't blush easily. The singer giggles at my expression and saunters past me.

Rock changes his beat when he sees Shaya emerge from the caravan. Olivia, Adam and Elice are performing a routine, but I keep my eyes on the singer as she joins her voice to the medley being played.

I close my eyes in appreciation as Shaya sings. That is definitely not the voice I heard back in Galt. Shaya's voice is clear, piercing and sweet. For a few minutes, my mind conjures up warm thoughts of a world that I can't reach anymore…

I think Shaya might be the Olivia of singing. Have I stumbled onto this world's most talented artists?

I wipe my sleeve across my face and grab my bow as the troupe's performance finishes. There aren't as many people here as there were in Galt, but they make up for it in spirit with their cheers and cries. The troupe bows and waves out to the villagers, and out of the corner of my eye I see Nerine talking to an elderly man in the crowd.

Olivia falls straight back to the caravan, and I step aside to let her through. It looks like Elice is mingling, with Adam hovering protectively over her, while Shaya stays within sight of Rock and Yahen.

"Hey there!" A pair of villagers approach the caravan. I scan over their stats quickly and write them off as non-threatening.

"Hey," I greet back warmly, taking in their expressions. "I'm guessing you liked the performance?"

"L-liked it?" one of them says, clearly struggling for words. "Tha' was… amazing! Never seen nothin' like it!"

I give the man a knowing nod and gesture out to the rest of the troupe. "Why not talk to a few of the performers and let them know what you think? It'll make them happy to hear how much you liked it."

It's a pre-emptive deflection from my end. I've got a feeling that these guys are specifically looking for Olivia. I'm also pretty sure that Olivia wants to hide.

"Aye, but _she_ 's in there, right?" the man prods. Yeah, go figure. "I mean, everyone's good, but the one in pink was just…"

"Ah, sorry," I say. I think about telling them how shy Olivia is, then decide it's not really my place to say. "She _might_ be out in a few hours, so you'll have to wait until then."

"C'mon, buddy!" the other pleads. "Just for a few minutes!"

I feel just a touch unnerved by the guy's tone, but I try not to show it.

"What, the rest of these amazing people not good enough for ya?" I laugh even as I shift my stance. "Go on, get to know some of the others, and maybe you'll see _her_ around later."

I palm an arrow as I gesture out to the crowd. The first of the pair seems to notice and deflates, nudging the other when he seems ready to protest. They leave reluctantly.

"Thanks," a soft voice calls from behind me.

"No problem," I say without turning around. For a moment I think Olivia's going to follow-up, maybe to explain why she's so reluctant to mingle, but she stays silent.

It's alright. I can guess based off of her canon personality.

A few other members come by to drop off their instruments or change their clothes. I notice Elice smiling and clutching a shiny rock-pendant when she stops by. Next to her, Adam looks a little exasperated.

"Every time," he says to me as he heads out the door. "Seriously."

"Did Elice make an impression on a poor village lad?" I hazard a guess.

"You have no idea," Adam says, shaking his head.

"He's sweet," Elice defends.

" _Everyone's_ sweet," Adam says. "Especially when you do that thing you do with your eyes and tilt your head down and look at them like _this_ and-"

Elice smacks her brother on the arm lightly.

Rock strides up to me as the two set out again. "You okay?" he asks me, gesturing with a thumb to Olivia.

"I can stay here until whenever you come back," I reassure him, and the big man nods gratefully as I pick up his task at guard duty. There's no denying that he's suited for it; I read him as a level 20 fighter, with stats to match. Still, I doubt we'll get any trouble in this cheery village.

I stand guard outside the caravan for about a half-hour, deflecting a few people looking for Olivia and chatting about inane things with villagers until the crowd dissipates. Then I head back inside.

I find Olivia staring at her shawl. She starts when I clear my throat.

"Just wondering if you're planning on heading out at all," I say.

Olivia shakes her head furiously. "Um, that's alright! I'll just stay in here for a bit longer."

I shrug and drop my bow, taking a seat near the entrance. "No problem."

I see a flicker of guilt flash across her face. "Sorry… you don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

"Hey, it's no big deal," I say, waving my hand. "I noticed that you did the same thing back in Galt. Crowds get you nervous?"

"Not _really_ ," Olivia says, still looking down at the floor. "It's just that… they were just watching me, and I was…" she pokes her fingers together.

"You were…?" I prompt when she trails off.

Olivia's face goes red and she shakes her head. "It's nothing! It's just, it's just-! I mean, they were all staring at me, and-!" She hides her face in her hands and mumbles something unintelligible.

Oh my god she's adorable. It takes a heroic amount of self-control to not poke fun at her obvious embarrassment.

"The performance is over," I say instead. "And… everyone seems to think you did pretty well, myself included. Good work."

She did phenomenally, but I'm sensing that I shouldn't give her anything higher than mild praise if I want her coherent anytime soon. It's only partially successful as she hides even further behind her hands.

 _She'll calm down on her own_ , I decide. I take a seat and decide to close my eyes for a bit while Olivia normalizes.

I think about Libra and can't stop a small smile from crossing my face. Conversation with the monk always came naturally. I wonder where he is now? Hopefully, he hasn't run into any bandits. God only knows how melancholic he'll be if he lets his battle sorrows build up without anyone to talk to.

I rifle through the small pack of supplies that I was able to prepare with Libra and Bran. It's mostly food, though they also gave me 10 gold as an emergency supply. Then, most importantly, there's my back-up notes for Emmeryn. Or Chrom, I suppose.

I skim it briefly, double-checking to see if I'm missing anything. I can't add anything without ink and a quill, but we're in a village now, so now's probably my chance if I need to.

"You can read?" Olivia's voice brings me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah," I say. "You?"

That might be a bit of a tactless question, but thankfully Olivia nods. "Not very well, though…"

"Just like you don't dance very well?" I note dryly, poking at Olivia's ridiculous humility when it comes to herself.

Olivia flushes. "I don't, though! I'm just-"

I laugh and wave it off. "Don't worry, I get it," I say.

"So, what is it?" Olivia asks, drawing close to peer at my notes. I'm acutely aware of the space between us. Argh, why couldn't she change from her dancer's outfit? Oh god, now I'm imagining – stop, clear your mind! Clear your mind. Sixteen squared is two-fifty-six. Seventeen squared is… 256 plus 16 is 272, plus 17 is 289? Eighteen squared is… 289 plus 16 is 306, plus 17 is 324.

That's better. Phew.

"This is…" I start, opening my eyes but not looking directly at her. Hopefully my silence can be played off as cryptic-ness. "… The reason I'm here."

I risk a sideways glance, but Olivia seems to be waiting for me to elaborate.

Ah, what the hell. "I'm going to Ferox to deliver this note," I state plainly.

"Oh," Olivia says. "Who's it for?"

"Prince Chrom of Ylisse, if I'm lucky." I return the notes to my pack.

"Prince Chrom?" Olivia is rightly confused. "I don't think you'll find him in Ferox, though."

"Normally, I wouldn't," I admit. "But the tournament between the East and West Khans is happening soon, right? That's probably the best chance I have of finding him and talking to him."

"Prince Chrom's going to be competing in the tournament?" Olivia says, looking alarmed.

"I think there's a good chance," I say. "Ylisse needs Ferox with Gangrel acting up. If he wants to get the support of a Khan in advance, when the price of an alliance is cheaper and terms are flexible, he's got to act soon."

Also, I canonically know it's going to happen. But why not pretend to be politically savvy?

"Oh," Olivia says, nodding her head and not looking at me. "R-right."

"Everything okay?" I ask when I notice her fidgeting.

"Yep!" she says quickly. "So, um, what kind of letter do you need to give to him?" For some reason her eyes widen. "Um, but you don't have to tell me! It's okay, haha..."

… Is she nervous that Lon'qu is going to go up against Chrom? Don't think so. Maybe I'll figure out the source of her odd behaviour if I just keep going.

"It's fine," I say, still watching her body language. Whoa eyes, don't wander. "Basically, I've heard some pretty nasty things a few people are planning against Ylisse. And Ferox, I guess. If I'm lucky, this might save some innocent lives."

A lot of innocent lives, though if I butterfly anything into a prolonged war I might end up achieving the opposite. Still, that's not an excuse for inaction.

I'm careful not to mention that helping Ylisse probably means harming Plegia. No moral ambiguity here, no sir.

Olivia looks suitably impressed. "Saving lives?" she says. "Father Libra did mention…"

She trails off before a determined expression comes across her face. "I can't do much, but if there's something I can do to help…"

"I'll let you know," I say, nodding. "Thanks."

Olivia smiles, and some of our earlier awkwardness disappears.

"Um, can I ask another question?"

"Sure," I say, nodding.

"Can you tell me which performance, um…," Olivia hesitates.

I decide to wait patiently instead of prompting her to continue.

"Not that they were good or anything, but, um. Which dance do you think was better?"

I tilt my head to indicate that I'm a bit confused.

"I mean, between today and back in Galt," the dancer clarifies.

"Oh," I say, thinking it through. "Well, I was pretty blown away when I saw you in Galt. As for today, I wasn't really paying attention to the dancing."

"Oh," Olivia says. "I thought… never mind."

The dancer draws in on herself and I mentally wince as I check my word choice.

"That sounded bad," I say. "Lemme try again. You were dancing really well! I know it and the crowd knew it. I'd would've been as captivated today, but I was kind of focused on Shaya this time."

"Shaya…?" Olivia says, surprise clear. "But she wasn't– oh!"

Olivia has a look of revelation and my words catch up to me _again_.

"Hold up," I hastily amend. "I wasn't looking at her because I wanted to specifically. I mean, it's not like I _didn't_ want to look at her – she asked me to look at her, okay?"

Olivia covers her mouth with a hand. "She _asked_ you to…?"

"It's not what you're thinking!" I say. "Wait, no. I'm not doing this."

I take a deep breath. The best defense is a good offense!

"Olivia," I say, completely changing my demeanour. I let a hint of curiosity through. "Shaya's voice was totally different than the one I heard at Galt. Back then, who was singing?"

The ball is back in her court, and the dancer predictably blushes and completely looks away. Success!

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "So that _was_ you, huh?"

"Umm, I… well, I mean," she stammers, playing with her fingers again. Her voice is practically a mumble. "Shaya's been giving me some lessons."

"Just play some instruments and you'll be a one-man troupe," I joke.

Olivia shakes her head resolutely but doesn't say anything, still embarrassed.

I stretch a bit and sigh as silence falls between us, lying against a wall. I tilt my head to the side to look at her.

"So, is this usually what you do after performances?"

"Mmhmm," she nods. "I just can't go out and see everyone after I perform. Rock usually stays, too, but I think he just does it to keep me company." She glances at me and makes eye contact with a tentative smile. "Thanks, by the way."

"Anytime," I say. I'm more interested in talking to a future Shepherd than exploring a random village. Also, I'm a guy and she's Olivia. Seriously, how do the Shepherds fight alongside her without getting distracted every other second?

"Are you sure you don't want to check out the village though, even a bit?" I continue, gauging Olivia's reaction. I continue when I see her look a little interested. "No one's outside the caravan now, and you could go with a cloak."

Olivia pokes her fingers together, looking lost in thought. "Well… maybe…"

I'm about to push a bit further when I get a strange feeling, and I pause. Maybe I'll let Olivia decide on her own.

Eventually the dancer shakes her head. "You can go on ahead. I'll be fine here."

I repress a sigh. Damn. Maybe I should've pushed for it while the metaphorical iron was hot?

I shake my head, too. "Never mind, then."

* * *

We leave Padstow behind on the very same day after picking up some supplies. It's not worth staying in such a small village for too long, and we've got places to be.

"So, you're all from Ferox?" I ask the troupe idly a few hours later. Yahen's sitting at the entrance of the caravan, guiding the horses dutifully north.

"Nah," Elice says. "We're all from Plegia. Think Olivia's the only Feroxi, actually."

Rock grunts.

"Olivia and Rock," Elice amends. "They're the newest to our group. Well, after you."

"You guys been together a while, then?" I ask.

Shaya sits down next to me. "Years," she says. "Though Olivia and Rock just joined us... hmm, 4 months ago, I think?"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Oh. Then why's the whole troupe heading to Ferox?"

I know the answer to this question, but they don't know that I know.

Elice playfully drapes an arm around Olivia's shoulder. "'Cuz Oli here _really_ wants to see her lover~"

Olivia blushes almost instantly. " _Elice!_ He's not – we're not! H-he's my friend!"

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Nerine cackles, and next to me I notice that Shaya's blushing, too. "Nothin' to be ashamed of, girl. I hear he's quite the looker!"

"Leave her alone, ladies," Adam comes to Olivia's rescue. Then he pokes her in the arm playfully. "I mean, there's no way her friend looks as good as I do."

"Nice one," I say appreciatively. "There's no good way for her to answer that."

Adam bows with one hand as Olivia groans. "Not you too, Ess'ai," she complains.

We keep some light-hearted conversation going as the caravan plods along. I tune in again when I hear Nerine talking about bandits.

"He's not sure why, but there's more of 'em wanderin' about in small packs," she says. "It's just not safe on the road anymore, not at night."

"I heard from a merchant near Galt that a big pack of bandits broke up recently," I recall. "Maybe it's related?"

Or maybe it's related to Gangrel ordering soldiers to pretend at banditry. Who knows?

Nerine shakes her head. "It's always bad news when bandits get antsy. Let's just hope we don't get caught up in it."

Olivia shivers, and Adam pats her on the shoulder.

"We'll be fine," he says confidently. "With Rock, Ess'ai, and 'specially me, we won't lose to bandits."

I blink as Adam reaches behind his and Elice's packs to pull out a scabbarded sword. He strikes a heroic pose.

" _Whoa!_ You have a sword?" I ask, genuinely surprised. I've asked around, and weapons aren't cheap. "How on Earth did you-"

Elice groans. "Don't. Please don't ask him, Ess'ai."

"But that's a pretty big deal!" I insist.

"It's a good story," Yahen agrees, and Rock nods silently.

"Men," Shaya says with a small smile.

"Boys," Elice corrects with a shake of her head. "I'm not listening to this story again. I've already heard it twice today."

"In the village?" I ask, and Elice nods, looking at me with a weary and pitiful expression. I know she's playing me, but I relent anyway. "Fine, fine, I won't ask. Still, that's really cool. I didn't know you could fight, too."

"I can't," Adam admits brazenly, and I nearly choke at his careless tone. My sometimes dancing instructor winks at me. "But the bandits won't know that, will they?"

* * *

The troupe doesn't have many expectations of me, as I don't really draw from their supplies. Libra and Bran gave me enough food to see me safely to Ferox, so long as I ration it sparingly with liberal use of Estus. I'm used to the constant hunger, and while I'm sure I look a little thinner and weaker than I did when I got here, I don't mind. A little bit of hunger keeps me sharp.

We stop at another village several days later as the sun is setting, and decide to spend the night. It feels different, though. The villagers of Padstow greeted us with curiosity and goodwill, or neutrality at worst.

The villagers here seem wearier, and their eyes are evaluating when they look at us.

"They've seen bandits," Nerine tells all of us plainly as we huddle in the caravan. "And we'll be getting closer to their old hideout if we keep going north. Everyone's scared."

"Nothing we can do about that," Adam sighs.

"No," Olivia disagrees, looking unusually fierce. "There is."

Most of us are against performing in this village, but Olivia won't hear of it. She shines that night, her shyness melting away as her steps become more and more graceful. I'm sure it's hard for her, but she keeps eye contact with as many people as she can while she dances. Sometimes, she closes her eyes, and when she re-opens them it's always with a sudden burst of energetic steps.

Everyone is entranced. For a little while, this small village forgets its troubles.

* * *

We strike north-west, hoping that our roundabout route will let us bypass the bandit hotspots to the east.

"Step, step, hold!" Adam commands as he dances at my side. "Aaaand relax. I think that's enough for tonight. Good stuff!"

I breathe deeply and my muscles take in precious oxygen, sighing with relief. Dancing is physically demanding, and despite how lackadaisical Adam normally is he's pretty hardcore when it comes to his craft. I take a few gulps of his proffered water-skin, not even wincing anymore at the unusual taste the container brings.

Ah, what I'd give for a good plastic water bottle.

"Thanks, man," I say, passing the water back to him before grinning. "Man, this is way more fun than I'd thought it'd be."

Adam gives me a haughty look as he picks up his sword from his feet. "With me watching over you, how could you expect anything less?"

"Of course, oh great dancing master," I say, picking up Hush and re-securing my bag of arrows to my belt. "I apologize for ever doubting-"

 _Rustle_

My reaction time is poor, but I grab an arrow and turn. "Freeze!" I shout instinctively, looking for a target. Adam runs up to my side, though his inexperience is showing as he hasn't drawn his weapon. "Who's there?" I add belatedly.

I relax when I hear a mild _eep_ and see a sliver of pink shifting behind a tree.

"Oh, Olivia," Adam sighs. "Don't scare us like that."

"Sorry…" Olivia emerges hesitantly, blushing as furiously as I expected. "I wasn't trying to spy on you or anything, though!"

"We never said you were," I say, and Olivia's blush somehow deepens. "What are you doing out here, though?"

"… Nothing really," Olivia says after a pause. I'm not sure what she sees in our expressions, but she backpedals and stammers out a quick apology. "I'll just, um, head back now! Sorry again! Good night!"

"Olivia," I call, but she's already gone. Adam gives me a wry grin.

"Looks like you've got a secret admirer," he says, nudging me.

"I'm learning from the best," I quip back, before frowning. "Although, she really shouldn't wander from the caravan. I mean, we have our weapons, but she doesn't have anything."

"Things have been getting tenser, haven't they?" Adam says.

There's just something in the atmosphere as we approach Plegia's northern borders. We should be safe when we enter Feroxi territory in a couple of days, and from there it's only about a week until we reach the Longfort.

That means if something's going to go wrong, it's going to happen soon. We're all a little wary.

"Yeah," I agree. "Maybe we should put off our practice until we cross the border to Ferox."

"We could, but then Olivia's going to be alone when she sneaks out to practice at night," Adam points out.

"Huh?" I say. "Wait, is that why she was out here?"

"Probably, until we distracted her."

"Hm. Then we'll have to convince her to not practice for a couple of days," I say.

"Nah, let her practice," Adam disagrees. "She can't become the best dancer in the world if we let something like bandits get in her way."

"Wha – best dancer in the world?"

"Next to me, of course," Adam grins. "But c'mon, anyone can tell that Olivia's going to make it big. It's our job to make sure she gets that chance!"

"Is that something you're allowed to say considering your sister's a dancer, too?" I ask skeptically.

Adam snorts. "Elice 'n I have made our peace with it," he says, turning to face the sky. "Olivia's just better than us."

"I'm impressed," I admit. "You don't sound as bitter about it as most people would be." Thinking back, I've never picked up any animosity between the troupe members for as long as I've been with them. That's unusual.

He chuckles ruefully. "You say that now, but you should've seen my sister when Olivia first showed her up a few months ago. Boy, was she _pissed_."

"Ooh," I wince at the thought of Olivia having to deal with a frustrated Elice.

"She couldn't stay mad at Olivia for long, though," Adam says, and I nod. I've witnessed the power of kicked-puppy Olivia, and it's not a force to be trifled with. "And honestly, we're all learning a lot from each other."

When Adam turns to face me again, he looks unusually serious. "Still, you'd have to be blind to miss Olivia's talent. And that's why we're going to keep her safe."

"Keep her safe?" I say quizzically.

Adam nods. "So she can practice, of course! A missed day of practice loses you a week of results, everyone knows that."

I blink at his surprising work-ethic. Come to think of it, I don't think any of the dancers in this troupe have missed a single day of practice. "Man, first the sword and now declarations to protect maidens. Are you secretly an upcoming story-book hero?"

The dancer laughs sheepishly. "Well, Olivia picked up her night-time practice habits from me, so I guess we have to take responsibility."

"Ahh, there it is," I nod in understanding. "Wait, why am I getting involved in this again?"

Adam claps me on the shoulder. "Because you're my student now! The master and student share their troubles, right?"

"Eh, why not," I shrug.

It's honestly silly, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious. There's only a few days before we reach the border. What's the worst that could – wait, no, I'm not going to tempt fate.

Instead, I'll make plans for how to react when things inevitably go wrong.

* * *

We go an entire day without meeting anyone on the road, and decide to stop near a river before the sun sets. It's a good spot to water and rest the horses, and we've got a pretty open view with no bandits in sight.

Of course, that means Adam and I can't really be discrete about watching over Olivia when she sneaks downhill to practice next to the river.

"Please stop staring," she says meekly.

"We're not," I say defensively. Adam smirks and I hit him on the shoulder. "Okay, I'm not. I can't speak for Adam."

"You're doing fine," Adam reassures her. "And we've been over this. The best way to get comfortable in front of bigger crowds is to practice in front of people you know."

Olivia doesn't look convinced, but to her credit she tries to pick up her dance again. She's clearly conscious of us, though, and her movements are stiffer than what I'm used to.

I decide to take it easy on her and instead keep scanning the horizon. There's no one else here, and we're only a few minutes away from the caravan in case of trouble.

Olivia fumbles a step and stops again. "S-sorry," she sighs, twiddling her fingers. "I don't think-"

Whatever she was going to say is cut off as a piercing scream cuts the air.

"That was-" I start, grabbing my bow and Mend staff.

"Elice!" Adam finishes, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his weapon. I hesitate. There's two dancers, but only one sword between them. And frankly, Olivia's stats are better in almost every way.

 **Adam  
Dancer**

LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 17/17

Str: 4  
Mag: 1  
Skill: 9  
Spd: 10  
Lck: 6+4  
Def: 7  
Res: 2

Skills: _Luck+4_.

 **Olivia  
Dancer**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 25/25

Str: 7  
Mag: 3  
Skill: 15  
Spd: 15  
Lck: 10+4  
Def: 5  
Res: 4

Skills: _Luck+4_ , _Special Dance_.

"Can either of you use a bow?" I try, and the dancers shake their heads in the negative. Damn.

I should tell Adam to pass the sword to Olivia, but what if I'm wrong? While my combat seems to run on RPG mechanics and turns, I still can't tell if the same applies to the world. Olivia's stats won't help if she freezes up.

I end up saying nothing as we race back uphill, and the caravan comes into sight. I spy four bandits, circling Rock and Yahen. They're both unarmed. Hopefully, the others are safely hidden in the caravan.

Of course I wouldn't get to Ferox uneventfully. I haven't had a chapter with Olivia yet, after all. Fuck my life. Is this chance? Or are battles literally unavoidable in this fucking world?

 _Calm down. You can do this._

I close my eyes and slow myself, trying to mind my feet as I quickly skim through the bandits' levels. Level 6, 3, 10, and 18.

My eyes snap open and Adam catches me as I almost trip over the uneven ground.

"What're you doing?" he asks. "Let's hurry!"

It's too hard reading stats and trying to move at the same time, but I double-check quickly while repeating Sumia's mantra. _Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip._

"The ugly one with the scar's the strongest, and that one's the second strongest, I think," I say quickly, pointing out the level 10 and 18 bandits to Adam. "Don't fight them, they'll tear us apart."

I'm glad I've spent some time thinking about our combat capabilities as a group. The obvious problem is that our strongest fighter, Rock, doesn't have a weapon. If we kill the level 3 and pass his axe to Rock, though, we should be good.

The bandits haven't spotted us yet. We can strike pre-emptively with my bow, but that'll ruin our chance for diplomacy. I want to think that bandits are just regular human beings, and that they'll be reluctant to fight against even numbers. Then I remember the _Raven_ 's crew, and my hope flickers.

Gods damn it all, what do I do?

Argh, fuck it. "Olivia, hold my staff for a sec and be ready to give it back," I whisper. "Adam, I'm attacking. Keep me safe 'til we take down the weakest guy over there."

 _Attack._ I bring up my combat forecast against the weakest bandit. Barbarians have a low defense, so I can actually hurt them. If they close with me, though, I'm fucked.

 **Ess'ai**  
HP: 20

Atk: 6  
Hit: 91  
Crit: 0

 **Krull**  
HP: 33

Atk: -  
Hit: -  
Crit: -

 _Attack._

Though my body is coursing with adrenaline, my movement is as smooth as ever as I jog up the remaining distance to the bandits, nock an arrow and loose.

"Argh!" the bandit that I hit cries out in pain. My arrow gets him squarely in the shoulder.

Rock doesn't let the opportunity go to waste. He rushes in and wrenches the axe from the bandit I just struck, slashing at him wildly before retreating.

"Hold it!" I bellow as forcefully as I can. My attempts at starting a conversation to diffuse the battle fall flat as the level 18 barbarian roars in rage, hefting his axe at Rock while his weaponless ally staggers back.

"Take 'em out!" their strongest member snaps to his remaining allies. I gulp as the level 6 and 10 turn their gaze towards us. They're coming closer.

"Stop now, idiots!" I try again, and something in my tone must get through because the bandits slow down and actually stop. Adam draws his sword and hovers next to me uncertainly. I can see his eyes flicker across our sudden battleground, probably searching for his sister. "Are you trying to get yourselves killed for no reason? Back off now. I can heal your friend when you all go away, and we can pretend that this never happened."

 **Gascon  
Barbarian**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 40/40

Str: 17  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 8  
Spd: 13  
Lck: 7  
Def: 5  
Res: 2

Skills: _Gamble_.

Oh no. With that Silver Axe, the bandit's attack is 33, so I can't tank a single hit. And he doubles me, so if he decides to fight me I'm definitely going to die.

I wish I had Libra with me. I shouldn't have split up from him.

 _Find another way out!_

Adam might not be able to see the enemy stats, but I think he comes to the same realization.

"Look, guys. We don't want trouble, and we won't go telling anyone you're here," he says, looking at the stronger of the two. He flips his sword in his hand with surprising dexterity. "We've got weapons and you know we can use them. Why risk it? People come across this road all the time."

Bless Adam. He might not be able to fight, but I'll be damned if he can't bluff it with the best of them.

"There's easier targets than us," he continues persuasively. "I don't want to die. You don't want to die. Let's all take a few steps back, yeah?"

I think we're getting through to the level 6, but the level 10 is staring at something past us. He's looking at…

Oh, son of a bitch.

Olivia.

Olivia, who's still sweaty in her dancer's outfit and is more-or-less a walking wet dream.

Slowly, the level 10 bandit grins, and Olivia takes a step back involuntarily. Unbidden, a memory rises.

 _No, stop it! Get off of me!_

Maybe without Olivia, Adam and I could've talked our way out. Still, it's not her fault she's so pretty. If anything, I should've predicted this. Did Rena's fate teach me nothing?

I recognize that look on Gascon's face too well. My grip on my bow tightens.

 _Stop! Please, stop!_

"Olivia, be ready to break for the caravan," I say quietly. "Don't get caught. And… if things start looking bad, run with the others."

Rock's the only one who can take on the level 18 without dying, but a quick glimpse shows that his fight is going poorly. Yahen's keeping the bandit occupied, and that's the only thing keeping Rock alive right now.

How unfair. Even with a numbers and level advantage, Rock is losing. Fuck off, lunatic mode.

There's no time left. We need to act.

"Adam, we need to get past these guys so I can heal Rock," I say. "Olivia, you need to pass my staff back as we run. On three."

If his leer is anything to go by, Level 6 seems to have finally noticed Olivia. It's given us enough time to plan, though, so I'll take it.

"One, two, three."

We burst into motion, the three of us running for Rock and the caravan. I put my arrows back into my pouch, and Olivia hands me my staff as we run. Healing is more valuable than damage, now.

So far, so good. The bandits are unfortunately only caught off guard for a second, and they rush to intercept us.

"Hey now, didn't you want to talk?!" Gascon jeers. I've got an urge to shoot an arrow into his face, but none of us actually fall for the taunt. "'Coz I've just thunk a way to settle this nicely, pretty lady."

The two dancers outstrip me quickly, being fitter than I am. The bandits are gaining on me, too. I see Olivia's eyes flicker back towards me. I get a cold feeling as I see a familiar expression of determination cross her face.

"Don't-" I start to say, but she slows down.

"Please, heal Rock," she says, and then she intentionally falls behind.

"Goddamnit Olivia, get back here!" I snarl. But I can't be that guy that fucks everything up and wastes valuable seconds by dithering. I try to keep an eye on her.

The bandits grin as they catch up to Olivia. My heart nearly stops when the level 6 grabs at her, but she twists away at the last second.

 _Naga, if you can read my thoughts, keep her safe._

"Show us a dance, girlie!"

Olivia's face hardens imperceptibly at their jeers. It's terrifying watching her try to bait them, so I can barely imagine what she's feeling right now. But if I don't do my part and support Rock, then her actions will be in vain.

Focus. If I try to heal Rock from this direction, my body's going to ignore everything to try to get to him. That means I'll be open for the Level 18 to intercept me.

Yahen is still trying to distract the Level 18. They're moving around, so I need to wait for it. Wait for it… now's my chance! I close my eyes.

 _Staff – Mend._

My mind's eye settles on Rock. The rest is up to fate.

Like a puppet, my posture suddenly shifts as I race towards my ally, staff in hand. Light pours from my staff, and some of Rock's wounds visibly close.

When true awareness returns to me, I realize that Olivia has caught up to us and Adam has turned to try to hold off Level 6 and 10, waving his sword like a stick to keep them back.

My senses are running in overdrive, trying to figure out what to do.

 _Just macro, dumbass, keep healing Rock!_

I run a couple of steps away from the bandits and close my eyes again.

 _Staff – Mend._

I'm only peripherally aware of what's happening as my staff shines and Rock is healed further. The healing gives my ally enough courage to finally close with the level 18 bandit again. There's a vicious exchange of blows, and Rock stumbles back as blood spurts from his chest.

His opponent falls, though. With the strongest enemy down, Rock can carry us to victory. I feel a surge of triumph as I hear the sounds of a level-up pinging in my head.

It turns into horror as I slowly gain awareness of myself. Level 6 is right next to me, the sun shining off his axe as he raises it skyward.

What's going through Adam's mind when he shoves me away? Is he thinking of what an idiot I am for not moving when the enemy is clearly right next to me?

Panic flares as my staff clatters out of my hand, rolling away with the force of Adam's push.

The dancer gets me out of harm's way, but in exchange an axe bites into his side. His face is right in front of mine, his expression screwed up in pain. His scream burns its way into my mind.

Rock is there immediately, slashing at Level 6 with reckless abandon and getting in a hit. I hear a cry of alarm as Gascon catches his ally's plight, rushing towards us. Rock shoots Adam a worried glance, but is forced to leave us and intercept Gascon.

At least the Level 10 can't try to abduct Olivia in the confusion anymore.

The Level 6 is charging us, his face a rictus of anger. I can't understand it. Rock just wounded him. Why isn't he running away? He should want to live. Isn't he afraid, like I am?

He draws close. The world around us stops existing. There's just me, Adam and the Level 6.

I can't leave Adam undefended to get my staff. I don't need to see the dancer's stats to know he can't take another hit. But I can. It's what my class specializes in, isn't it?

"I can heal myself if I get hit," I say in a rush to Adam. "Just try to hit him back."

I don't know if Adam's grasped my plan, and I don't have time to check. Level 6 draws near. I close my eyes, checking his health.

 **Rayne  
Barbarian**

LV: 6. EX: -.  
HP: 15/38.

Rayne swings his axe straight at me. I make no move to dodge it. I'm thankful for the time I've spent experimenting with my mental commands.

"Now, Adam!"

 _Inventory._

 _ **Estus Flask**_ _ **2/5:**_ _Use item._

My body ignores Rayne's axe as it slashes across my body, mechanically sipping my Estus. When I regain awareness, I see Adam landing a shallow hit with a clumsy swing.

There's the tingling feeling of phantom pain and my chest is bloody, but the Estus healed back all of the damage dealt. Trying to heal through enemy attacks is a completely valid tactic in Dark Souls, especially if you have an ally who can make use of the time that you buy.

 **Ess'ai  
Outrealmer**

LV: 6. EX: 11.  
HP: 20/21

"The _hell_?" Rayne tries to change tactics, moving to attack Adam. I brazenly step in his way as he slashes again, acting as Adam's human shield.

 _Inventory._

 _ **Estus Flask**_ _ **1/5:**_ _Use item._

I heal back the damage that Rayne dishes out immediately. The phantom pain is stronger when my awareness returns, but Adam nicks the bandit again in return.

 **Rayne  
Barbarian**

LV: 6. EX: -.  
HP: 9/38.

I grin madly at Rayne, trying to unnerve him. It works a little too well.

"The hell are you?" he asks, eyes wide. The bandit adjusts his grip on his weapon. "What's tha' orange bottle doing?"

"Last chance," I say in a sing-song voice. "I'll let you run."

I can't take another hit, and if I try to initiate a bow attack from so close I'm going to be forced to run back a little bit, to gain the traditional 2-range of Fire Emblem. That'd be fine if Adam wasn't on his last legs next to me, panting deeply. I can't leave him alone right now.

Fuck. If I wasn't double-dipping into Estus as a food source, I'd have all 5 uses available for this fight. I'd have been able to tank until we killed the bandit.

Also, my bluff seems to be failing.

"Jus' die, freak!"

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I try to dodge the next attack, but it catches me in the shoulder, even as Adam lands another hit on Rayne.

"ARGH! Are you kidding me?" I manage to spit out, stumbling back. "Do you want to die? _Stop it!_ "

But the sight of me being injured, no longer able to shrug off attacks, seems to have given our enemy a second wind. His eyes are wild. Damn, did I freak him out too much?

"DIE ALREADY!" he gasps, clutching his own wounds. He launches himself at us again.

I step back, shoulder awash in pain. If I run, then Adam's going to die in my place.

My plans are failing. There's a way to salvage victory from this, I know it. Our enemy is on the ropes. Just _think!_

But I'm looking death in the face and I'm _scared_. Who can plan in this kind of situation? Robin? I'm not her. As much as I'd love to be the guy who never wastes a second, who optimizes properly at the critical times, I'm not.

I'm a planner. I've come this far with premeditated strategies, like tanking with Estus. With Rayne charging at me, murder in his eyes, I can't think quickly enough. I freeze.

The axe descends.

And I get to watch as once more, Adam steps in to save me. I get to watch as Rayne's axe cuts my friend down, watch as he laughs away his last breaths.

"Hah… just like a story-book hero."

 **Rayne  
Barbarian**

LV: 6. EX: -.  
HP: 6/38.

 _ **Adam  
Dancer**_

 _LV: 3. EX: -.  
HP: 0/17._

No…

I can't hear the sounds of horrified screaming coming from the caravan. I can't hear the final roars in the fight between Rock and Gascon. All I hear is Adam's laugh as he falls in front of me.

No! NO!

 _Attack! ATTACK!_

I ignore the percentages and numbers. My mind shouts denials, but my body is smooth. Mechanically, I run away from Rayne. Pivot. Arrow on the string. My shoulder burns in agony, but it's a detached pain when I'm in my attack animation.

A clear shot. My body doesn't betray me, and an arrow lodges firmly in the bandit's chest. But…

 **Rayne  
Barbarian**

LV: 6. EX: -.  
HP: 1/38.

But he's alive, and instead of running away he's charging at me. What a madman. What idiotic bloodlust. I should be disgusted, but my mind is filled with hate.

Running never crosses my mind. I want to see the motherfucker who killed Adam burn.

 _Attack. Attack!_

But anger doesn't give you special powers. It doesn't let you break the rules of combat.

I already attacked once. It's not my turn anymore. So my body just isn't fast enough, and Rayne catches up to me even as I put a second arrow to Hush.

The bandit's blood lathers his skin as he bleeds profusely through the wounds that Adam and I inflicted. His eyes are half-closed, and his breath comes in short growls. With all of his remaining might, he delivers a vicious downwards slash.

My bow and arrows fall from my hands. My chest opens and I stagger forwards. Dimly, I can see someone running towards me. Olivia? No, that's Elice. Elice, Elice, Elice.

Sorry, Elice. I couldn't protect Adam.

Hah, that sounds like a pretty cool death quote. Am I anime now?

I stumble blindly towards Adam. Sorry, Adam. I thought things would work themselves out. I underestimated lunatic. I'm an idiot.

If only I told you to give Olivia that sword. No, if only I told Olivia to stay back completely. If only I asked Libra to come with me. If only I fired those extra goddamn 20 arrows to get the bonus damage from C-rank. If only, if only…

Filled with regrets, my eyes finally close.

 _ **Ess'ai  
Outrealmer**_

 _LV: 6. EX: 21.  
HP: 0/21._

 **YOU DIED**

* * *

 **A/N: Welcome to Dark Souls. I'd like a moment of silence for every poor soul who's played early-game Lunatic or Lunatic Plus. We're all probably familiar with the stress of just _barely_ keeping everyone alive. One screw-up later, and half of our team is dead. **

**Fun fact - Ess'ai passed** _ **every**_ **single Libra-related roll, including one that required a minimum of 80/100! Together they cleared every battle without death, were never outright ambushed, and Libra finally ended up believing Ess'ai's tale.**

 **The first Olivia combat roll was a** _ **Critical Failure**_ **(3/100), which is generally a story-changing or relationship-destroying roll. Or both.**

 **The irony is that this was the easiest roll to pass in the entire story so far.**

 **Welp. GG.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Still alive! My schedule is finally getting better. There was an additional delay because the Doc Manager is being really weird - I've noticed some formatting issues and disappearing line-breaks, but I have no idea how to fix them.** **This chapter is more mechanics and set-up over character interaction, mostly as a result of the terrible roll from last chapter.**

 **Thanks as always for the regular feedback, everyone – it's greatly appreciated!**

 **And since I forgot to write it in the last chapter,**

 ** _Achievement Unlocked: Welcome to Dark Awakening_** **.**

* * *

 _Can't move_.

My chest hurts. It's a detached, clinical observation. I remember being slashed there with an axe, so the pain makes sense.

 _Can't see anything_.

I'm sure my eyes are open. In fact, I'm not able to close them. I know it instinctively.

It's hard to breathe. My lungs want to inflate but my body isn't cooperating. My torso won't rise, and I can't open my mouth. There's a pressure that's resisting my attempts at movement.

If I can't breathe, I'm going to die! My detachment gives way to panic and I struggle against the pressure keeping me bound. Why can't I move? Why can't I open my mouth to breathe?

Logic tries to assess the situation. _Okay, confusion and blindness is par for the course. We just died. I think._

 _We died_ , an unhelpful part of my brain wails. _We died, we died, we actually friggin' died. We died! We died! WE DIED! WE'RE DEAD!_

 _And we're still thinking,_ Logic notes. _Panic isn't helping._

 _But we died! How could we –_

 _Okay, stop that,_ Logic says firmly. _All panicked and fearful sensations are now going to be labelled as Hysteria. Attention to all components of the brain: we are going to ignore Hysteria until further notice._

There are no objections in my head.

 _Good. Now, we've been immobile since we first gained conscious thought and nothing has changed, so I suspect we don't need to breathe. Can we verify this?_

Everything becomes easier when you compartmentalize. I follow Logic's suggestions dutifully and stop struggling, beginning a count. Ten seconds pass easily as my torso stays flat, and then another ten, and then a minute before I'm finally sure.

I don't need to breathe.

 _The Darksign was always our final gamble_ , Logic starts hesitantly. _It must have pulled through. We've probably become an Undead. But then why can't we move or see? Why is it so dark?_

Even Logic is instinctively shying away from the obvious alternative – that this is the afterlife, consciousness without form or physical perception. What if I've gotten a Game Over that leads to an empty world for me to go mad in, while an alternate version of me picks up from an earlier save point?

 _I'm not ignoring the possibility_. Logic says. _It's just that dealing with an afterlife is an unproductive train of thought. We can't do anything with it._

 _And as for our lack of senses,_ Logic continues, _maybe we just don't understand how Risen movements and senses work_. _It's clearly not based off of normal biology, because zombies don't have bodies that can realistically sustain life. Maybe it's magic, and we don't understand how to tap into it?_

How to tap into my senses… that's a train of thought I can work with. I hold my metaphorical breath in place of my actual breath as I clear my mind.

 _Revive. Restart. Reload. Load Game. Start Game. New Game. Continue. Move. Awaken. Awakening. Arise._

Nothing happens, but I'm still hopeful. Mental commands have gotten me through some tough situations before. There has to be something I can work with.

 _Vision. Visuals. Perception. Senses. Audio settings. Options. Game options. Visual settings. Graphics._

If I could find something that could let me see or hear again, that would be a great first step. I'm not claustrophobic or anything, but the dark is disquieting. I'm not used to it.

 _Teleport. Chapter select. Reset! Come on, this is freaking me out. Let me get the hell out of here, someone, please!_

Okay, so maybe I'm not as relaxed as I'm trying to deceive myself into thinking. Sue me. I maintain my shot-gun approach, hoping to get lucky. Nothing happens, though.

Nothing happens for a long, long time.

* * *

 _Attack?_ I try half-heartedly. _Heal? Support? Main menu?_

Being able to mentally visualize any of my regular menus would be nice. At least it'd provide me with some color, or an image of myself. Anything other than this endless dark…

I don't know how much time passes. Hours? Days? I'm sure tons of events have occurred in the world I left behind. Maybe the butterflies I sent out with Libra and Olivia will find their way to the Ylissean royal family. Maybe I've already made a difference.

I hope so, because I don't think I'm leaving the dark.

 _There's no utility in that kind of thinking_ , Logic says. Bless it, but it's been diligent in trying to think of a way out. Even its voice is quiet now.

* * *

I try emptying my mind, and accepting the fact that I'm probably dead. I try to make myself at peace with the idea.

I need a clear, empty mind. I reach it, and while my fear of the dark recedes a little, it doesn't do anything special for me in the end.

 _It was a long shot, anyway_ , Logic says wearily. _Sort of like believing in the Power of Love. Oh, there's something we haven't tried yet._

I try thinking of my family and friends, and the strength of the bonds I share with them.

That doesn't restore me to the world of the living, either. Is this what Robin felt like, consigned to the void against Grima in their final battle?

Eventually, I stop thinking of logical solutions and find myself focusing on stupid things. Like, my chest is still aching. My left foot also feels kind of funny. There's a slippery, tickling sensation there.

I don't like the feeling. It goes away in a few hours, though.

It re-appears in my shoulder. That really pisses me off. Can't I at least have a monotonous rest? I try to thrash around to assuage that strange feeling, but to no avail. I can't move.

Days pass with nothing to mark the time except the appearance and disappearance of the tickly feelings. I think I'm going to go crazy here.

* * *

 _…_ _Close game_. _End game, Alt F4._

Still nothing. Still just me, one with the dark.

One with the dark, dark, dark. Hey, look, another tingly feeling!

* * *

It's actually the tingling feelings that break me. I can't take them lying down anymore. I can't take trying to _think_ of a way out when I've built up all of this energy from my restlessness. If I can't reason a way through this, I'll bust my way out instead!

I need to be out in the world, doing something and levelling up. Not lamenting my fate in silence and darkness.

I thrash and nothing happens, but I don't stop. I shake and fidget and move for what feels like an hour. Expending energy against the unrelenting darkness tires me, but it's a paradoxically motivating feeling. I haven't felt tired in a while. It's a welcome change, and maybe it's a sign that I have a body that I just can't properly perceive yet.

I struggle some more, and finally there's a shift. It's the smallest thing, but I felt like I was able to move my leg. I redouble my efforts. With each burst of motivation, I can feel the pressure around me ease by the tiniest amount.

I work in cycles, alternating between resting and trying to thrash like a madman. After five cycles of completely pushing myself to exhaustion, I'm sure of it. I can move my arms and legs a little. More importantly, I can feel something tough and gritty resist any attempts at motion, something that I must have gotten acclimated to when I was stationary.

If it's what I suspect it is… then I don't think I'm in another world at all. Slowly, ever so slowly, I begin my journey upwards. Progress is painfully slow.

But if I'm truly Undead, I have all the time in the world.

I endlessly struggle to inch my body upwards. Hours pass, possibly days. I struggle, fall into a trance-like sleep, then rouse myself and struggle again.

I think I can see some shapes in the darkness, spots that are darker than other spots.

It's getting easier and easier to move. I run into an obstacle that feels a little more solid, but I find that I can worm myself around it, pushing it aside piece by piece. I leave it behind and keep moving.

When the pressure finally drops, it's almost all at once. My hand is the first part to break through into a place of no resistance where my fingers can flex freely. My shoulder is next, and even before my head follows I can perceive light.

Light. Glorious, glorious light!

With a final surge of triumphant energy, I tear myself from the constricting darkness, shaking myself wildly. The darkness sheds itself, and I can see again. The light above burns, so I keep my eyes downcast as I collapse to all fours, panting now that my ribs are free to move again.

Below me, caking me and surrounding me is dirt. So I was right, after all. I wasn't in some dimensional void. I'd been buried alive.

Or buried Undead, I suppose.

I can't bring myself to care about whether there might be spectators nearby. I crawl away from my burial site, as far away as I can get from that pit of darkness until I finally collapse, utterly spent.

"Hah… hah…" I pant. My voice is harsher than normal, the deep baritone of a Risen. I don't care at all about something so minor. It's such a relief to feel the air again, and to hear the movements of the wind. Is that how prisoners in solitary confinement felt back on Earth? They would be trapped for years at a time… how could it not drive them insane?

I still can't see very well. I rub at my eyes, and I'm surprised to find that it's gritty – oh, my eye sockets are filled with dirt. I tilt my head downwards and gently scrape it out with a finger. With each stroke, it becomes easier to see.

Eventually, I'm able to close my eyelids again, and with a surge of relief I see my internal menu finally appear again.

 **Ess'ai –** _A special little snowflake, far from home._ **  
Outrealmer**

LV: 6. EX: 21.  
HP: 21/21.

I let out a booming, shaky laugh. I'm alive. I made it. My laughter degenerates into hysteric chuckles when I realize I'm out of the dark and I don't have to go back.

I'm getting another tingly feeling in my side. With my restored eyesight, I glance down.

Oh, I have clothes. It's just my old jeans and a thoroughly wrecked white shirt, but it covers me well. I peel up my shirt to identify the tingling feeling and immediately wish I hadn't. There's a worm going through my decomposing body. Disgusting. It's peeking out through a hole in my ribs, so I grab it and pull it out before flinging it away.

Well, I'm sure decomposers have been at my body for days and I'm still perfectly functional, so it shouldn't matter. Between that and my ability to see without proper eyes, at least I can confirm that Risen biology makes no sense.

My skin is darker and patchy. Now that fresh wind is blowing, I can tell I'm absolutely rank. If anyone saw me like this, it'd be bad, but I can't bring myself to hide now that I've got my freedom.

I glance back briefly at my upturned grave, and I'm surprised at how shallow it seems. It felt like I'd travelled up an insurmountable distance, but looking at it now it seems to only be a few feet deep. Who could have buried me? The caravan troupe?

Why couldn't they just leave me alone? Why couldn't they have just buried me a couple of inches instead of feet? I know it's illogical, but I can't help the fury that courses through me. Because of them, I went through that hell, that despair of being trapped. Because of them –

 _No_. Calm down. If anyone should take the blame, it's the bandits that killed me. I know that's still not the full answer, but it'll do for now. I'm not thinking clearly after what I've been through.

I can't stand to look at my grave for more than a second at a time, so I wander around for a little while. Despite how bright the sun first appeared to me, it's actually sunset. There's a river not too far off from my burial site. There's a spot near a tree that looks familiar…

It's where Olivia was practicing with Adam and myself, before we heard our caravan fall under attack. That means this is the battleground where I died. I sit down underneath the fading shade of a tree, feeling the wind blow past me. It's indescribably beautiful after the stifling darkness of my grave, but I can't help but notice that the touch of the wind feels a little muted on my skin. Perhaps my Risen body can't perceive physical sensations as well as my human one.

This is all so surreal. I bark out a laugh at the sheer impossibility of everything before calling up my inventory.

 **Kara** : _A steel bracelet. No effect, but offers memories of a past life. Your starting gift._

 **Estus Flask 5/5** : _A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest._

 **Humanity (1)** : _A mysterious black sprite. Effects depend on context of use._

That's unfortunate. My weapons are gone, and I'm left with only my intangible items.

 _Inventory. Kara. Use item._

A steel bracelet flares into existence around my decaying right arm. I toy with it idly, flicking it with a finger in a circle around my wrist. The simple motions help me banish some of my lingering hysteria. I remain seated beneath the tree to enjoy the remainder of the dwindling twilight, not rising until the sun sets at last. My bracelet fades away as I stop paying attention to it.

My death might have shaken me, but I'm still mostly sane. It's time to plan.

What are my immediate resources, what's my short-term goal, and what's my long-term plan?

I close my eyes and check my stats.

Str: 5  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 3  
Spd: 8  
Lck: 6  
Def: 11  
Res: 9

I levelled up during that last, disastrous fight, but my stats have barely changed. I think I only got a point in defense and HP. Bah, guess you can't win them all.

My weapon rank in bows is D. My rank for staves is almost at C.

I have a humanity, which I got from B-supporting Libra. Presumably, using it will turn me into a human again. Unfortunately, I don't know how to get more humanity so I can't use it frivolously.

Dying as a human costs you your humanity, but dying while Undead doesn't have any major consequences in Dark Souls. I hope the same will hold true for my Risen form. I'll stay in this state for as long as I can get away with it.

I walk over to the river and peer at my reflection. Yeah, I've become a bona-fide Risen, complete with red eyes. But I don't have an urge to consume human flesh or anything.

A chill goes through me as I think of a more dangerous possibility. Has becoming a Risen affected my thoughts? I mean, I've been feeling antsy and a little crazy, but I think that's more because of my confinement than anything else.

Still, it's not something I can risk ignoring. I should compare what I want to do with what I expect my past-self would do in any situation when I come up with my plans.

My stupid, pathetic past-self. What the hell would he know about anything? He didn't know the pain of being trapped, he didn't know the stakes, he didn't see Adam die –

Fuck, stop getting angry. Resenting your own innocence is stupid and unproductive.

But with that train of thought the memories come flooding back anyway.

Adam laughing away his last breaths. His sister screaming his name in denial. Olivia… what happened to her, I wonder?

I jog back to the site of our final battle, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be camping nearby. The sun has completely set and its night-time, but I can see as clearly as if it were day.

A perk of having a magical body, I guess.

As expected, the caravan is long gone. There would be almost no trace of battle, if it weren't for the corpses of the bandits. It looks like while the troupe was willing to bury me, they didn't waste their efforts on our enemies. I walk to each corpse, trying to gauge how long I've been dead by their levels of decomposition. There's no hair loss or nail loss, so it can't have been months or anything.

If I recall correctly, the stages of decomposition are: fresh, bloated, decay, advanced decay, and dry. The corpses seem to barely have begun the decay process, so that'd make it around two weeks since they died. Wait, no, temperature and access to open air accelerate the decomposition process. I'd say one week at a minimum, and more realistically ten days.

I was in the darkness for a long time, but I don't think it was ten days. That is, the corpses have been decomposing for longer than I was trying to break out of my grave. I suspect that my awakening as a Risen wasn't instant. It took time for me to respawn, a couple of days at least.

It also means that Olivia and the others must have reached Ferox by now, if they didn't detour. Even if I get lucky and figure out directions, by the time I catch up Chrom will be gone.

And I _still_ don't know what timeline I'm in. It's only just hitting me how badly dying has screwed me over. I lost my easy ticket to the Shepherds and I'm completely on my own. Shit.

Still, I'm not done gathering information. I analyze the corpses more carefully, trying to identify the bandits. There are only three bodies, but we fought four opponents. That means someone escaped or surrendered. The bulkiest corpse was probably the level eighteen that Rock fought. I identify the level three by the arrow sticking out of its shoulder – he was my first target during the fight, and the weakest of the bandits. I guess he died.

I try to withdraw my arrow from his body, but I misjudge the angle and the shaft breaks off, leaving the arrowhead stuck inside. That's a lost cause. I leave him be and examine the third corpse. Its build matches Rayne's, and I see one of my arrows lodged in its gut. "Good riddance," I say, or try to say. It comes out as more of a " _Guh raah_." I stop and try again.

" _Good…_ " I manage to grind out. " _Raahs…_ "

Fuck it, close enough. I kick Rayne's corpse. I know it's frowned upon to disrespect the dead, but this guy killed Adam.

 _Adam…_

I make my way back to my grave. Reasoning out timelines and planning has stabilized me a bit, but I still can't stand to look at the spot I emerged from for too long. The darkness is too fresh in my mind.

Adjacent to my burial site is another patch of dirt that I suspect contains Adam's corpse. I stroll to the riverside and pull up a few plain flowers. They're probably closer to weeds, honestly, but I bring them back with me and lay them atop Adam's grave, kneeling on the dirt.

" _We… avah… ooo_ ," I say, before growling loudly. This is important to me, I'm not screwing it up! Slowly, over the course of minutes, I force out my words.

" _We… avenge… you…_ " I say. " _Elice… safe… Ferox._ "

I pat down the flowers into the dirt firmly. What else can I say?

" _…_ _I… Sorry…_ "

Sorry that you died, sorry that I wasn't proactive enough to become stronger and save us both. Adam, if you can hear me, pal, I hope that you're dancing in a place nicer than here.

I know that in terms of pure numbers, we actually came out ahead of the bandits. But right now, sitting on a friend's grave, I can't possibly think of our fight as anything resembling a victory. Not if it cost Adam his life.

I freeze as I consider a chilling thought. What if Adam is like me, an Undead? What if he's scrambling down there right now, and he hasn't figured out that he's been buried alive?

No, that's just stupid. No one else has had a Darksign penalty as far as I could see. It's incredibly unlikely.

But.

I just said that I'd start being proactive. If there's even a tiny chance of Adam becoming a Risen, I don't want him to suffer through what I just went through.

If I'm wrong, I'm guilty of doing something heinously disrespectful. But at the end of the day, what did being a model citizen do for me? I died and Adam died and now I'm off-course, no longer able to meet with the Shepherds.

My hands start rifling through the dirt, clawing it away methodically to get at my friend. Adam is buried even deeper than I was.

Bloating has set in, but his corpse is much better preserved than those of the bandits. He's not awake. He's not Undead. So I was wrong and I violated his grave unnecessarily.

Strangely, I still feel like I made the right decision to check. I incline my head.

" _Sorry…_ " I apologize again. I pile the dirt back up on top of him and lay the flowers over his grave once more.

Then, very reluctantly, I decide to confront my fears and examine my own grave, thoroughly this time. It's a place of significance, after all. I dig through it, expanding it in all directions.

And I find myself. Literally. There, laying in the dirt is my decaying human body. Ripped jeans and tattered shirt and all. Did I push past it while trying to break out of my grave?

I glance at my own zombified hands to make sure I'm not seeing things, before leaning in to get a closer look.

Interesting… my human body didn't become my Risen body. I duplicated. And right now I have my own set of clothing. That's an exploitable way to get infinite clothes, although I'd have to deal with dying multiple times and probably hollowing.

Hahaha. Thinking of stupid stuff is a really good way to keep your emotions controlled.

More important is what's buried next to my corpse. I find a tightly wrapped cloth and a worn-looking stave. Unwrapping the cloth reveals a familiar bow and a set of arrows.

They buried me with my weapons. My lingering resentment towards my burial disappears completely.

 **Hush 37/50** (E): _Inexpensive, but low in power.  
Rank: E, Mt: 4, Hit: 100, Crit: 0, Rng: 2, Eff: Pegasi._

 **Mend 10/20** : _Greatly_ _restores an adjacent ally's HP.  
Rank: D, Rng: 1_

Thanks, guys. I guess I can't complain about anything. I still have all the tools I need to move forward, so long as I'm smart about things.

What are my resources, what are my short-term goals, and what are my long-term plans?

I have knowledge, weapons, and humanity.

My long-term plan is to stop Grima and prevent an apocalypse-type scenario. Making banditry and hardcore crime less common is a distant, secondary goal.

My short-term goal… well, that's obvious. First with Rena, and now with Adam, it's clear what my deficiency is. I need to become a better fighter.

Glancing at my staff and bow, I come up with a few plans.

* * *

The first problem is how to hide my obvious Risenfication. My face and hands are visibly zombified. I'll need a cloak to cover them up.

I search the corpses of the bandits to no avail. Their clothes are patchy and no better than mine. I don't think Adam had a cloak, and I refuse to desecrate his grave again just to double-check something I'm 99% sure of.

My first lucky break is noticing that the level eighteen bandit had a pair of gloves. They're frankly in a disgusting state, being taken straight from a corpse, and I'd never consider wearing them if I were still human. I've got a magic body, though, so I'm just going to ignore the fact that the gloves are probably riddled with disease.

I've got nothing for my face. I contemplate stealing clothing from nearby villagers, but that would rely completely on luck and could easily go wrong.

I'm proud of the solution that eventually hits me. Making my way to my grave, I find my old body and liberate it of its shirt. It's not stealing if it's from myself, right?

My old shirt is torn down the middle from where Rayne sliced me across the chest, so I widen the tear with an arrow until it's properly severed. Then I tear off the sleeves completely. I end up with two sleeves and a flat cloth.

The flat cloth I use as a large hood, stuffing the bloody parts into the neck of my current shirt to hide the stains. It probably looks incredibly stupid, but who cares? Better to be identified as poor or crazy than as a zombie. The sleeves I partially stuff into my gloves, to conceal the space near my wrists that my shirt isn't long enough to cover. I eye the jeans on my previous body, but I'm not sure what to do with it. I painstakingly cut out large strips of denim with an arrowhead to take with me, just in case.

Most importantly, I loot my old body of its belt. I'm pleased to find it's still durable, if worn. I don't have anywhere to store it, so I wrap it around my thigh before closing it. Maybe I can pass it off as foreign fashion. It _technically_ is if you count anime. Mikasa Ackermann and Mizore Shirayuki both pull off thigh-belts… though come to think of it, they're both female. I've always poked fun at the more nonsensical outfits Japan comes up with, so I can appreciate the irony now.

I chuckle when I realize that I'm starting to follow the Souls protagonist method of dress – that is, having a mish-mash of unusual clothing for the head, legs, arms and torso. Function over form, all the way.

By the time the sun is beginning to rise, I'm feeling content with my progress. The only remaining issue is that I smell of death.

I probably shouldn't try to take a bath in the river nearby. With my decomposing body I'd be poisoning the water for any living creature who tries to drink from here.

It'd also probably end up making me smell _worse_ in the long term. Instead, I wash my clothes, soaking and scrubbing them thoroughly to remove the dirt that's been caked onto them before letting them dry.

A Risen doing laundry. This would probably be a hell of a sight for anyone passing by right now.

When I'm done and my clothes are mostly dry, I seal up my grave and look around the battlefield to make sure I didn't miss anything important. There's no spare weapons lying around or any other hints of where the troupe could have gone.

I recognize the direction we were coming from as a troupe, though. That means I can figure out where we were originally headed. I guesstimate my cardinal directions, then strike out for what should be East. It coincides with where the sun just rose, so that's a bonus.

I'm ravenously hungry now, but I'm wary of using Estus. If I had even one more flask use during my last fight, I would have lived.

But… I don't have any other food I can eat right now. I don't even know if I _can_ eat human food anymore. And all of this work has made me feel a little crazy again. Maybe just one sip?

 _Inventory._

 ** _Estus Flask_** _ **5/5:**_ _Use item._

Liquid ambrosia trickles down into my body. It quenches my thirst and hunger instantly, suffusing me with an inner warmth. My eyes widen.

 _Holy shit, this is_ good!

My mind sharpens and my restlessness fades. A dull ache in my chest that I wasn't even aware of lessens, making me feel better than ever before. The Estus flask disappears back into my hammer-space inventory, but I continue to stare at the hand that was holding it. What's that drink made out of, Naga's tears?

I remember it tasting like nothing more than lightly flavoured water before. It must taste better to Risen.

I want another sip. I want another sip really badly. I clench my fist and move on. It won't do anyone any favours if I become addicted to Estus.

* * *

My path takes me over inconsistent terrain, through trees and dry land. Sometimes I can follow beaten dirt paths, but just as often I need to find my own way. For two days I walk these lands with no one but myself for company, and nothing but the movements of the sun to guide my path. It's just as tiring as I suspect it'd be if I were human. My legs get sore, which I know can't be because of lactic acid buildup. My body doesn't even rely on oxygen, for God's sake.

My chest aches sometimes, too, right where Rayne sliced me across the chest. I accidentally discover that Estus helps with that. I'm forced to rely on it to keep my hunger at bay. It works even better than it did when I was human – three sips keeps me satisfied for a day. I crave more, of course, but I refuse to deplete my remaining sips in case of attack.

I rest at night. I don't fall asleep, but I come close, falling into a trance-like state for hours at a time. It takes about six hours of pseudo-sleeping before my Estus refills, but I rest for eight hours out of habit.

The consistent pace is harder than anything I ever set for myself on Earth, but there's nothing left for me in the West now that Olivia and Libra are gone. And this is what a good self-insert is _supposed_ to do, right? It's a recurrent concept in fantasy settings that your success is dependent on your ability to stay determined. The next key events canonically take place in Ylisse, so I doggedly maintain my pace eastwards.

As the sun sets on my third day of travelling, I find a blond man and a raven-haired woman holding hands.

By the time I spot them, I'm actually pretty close to them. It's a little too late to run away and hope they don't notice me. Amusingly, they seems to be just as surprised to see me as I am to see them. I see the woman fidgeting and sending panicked looks my way, whispering quickly at the man. Fortunately, the man seems to be perfectly collected.

The woman can't have notice that I'm an Undead, right? No part of my skin should be visible to her, not at this distance and especially not with such poor lighting.

That doesn't stop the adrenaline from building. I try not to let my tension show in my body language.

I stray off the path immediately, walking at an angle to make it clear that I don't want to talk to them. It'll make me look suspicious, but it's better than them smelling me. I examine them with my mind as I walk by, trying to evaluate the threat they present to me.

 **Samson –** _An apprentice smith with a high opinion of his skills._ **  
Villager**

LV: 20. EX: -.  
HP: 40/40.

 **Aira** – _An extremely talented smith who's rather hopeless when it comes to her love life._ **  
Villager**

LV: 20. EX: -.  
HP: 38/38.

A female smith, with the male as the apprentice? Seems progressive for medieval times.

The male doesn't seem to grasp my obvious intent of ignoring them.

"Ho, traveler!" Samson hails me from a distance. I'm glad that neither of the pair approach me. "Fine evening, isn't it?"

Best to keep walking. I shake my head, keeping my face down and makeshift hood up. I can see their bodies as I stroll by, but not their faces.

"H-hey there!" the woman calls nervously, and something familiar in her tone gets me to stop. Hm, I can't tell them verbally that I don't want to talk. I shake my head again, point my thumb at where my mouth is, and then shake my finger in a classic "no-no" motion.

I hope they decide I'm a weirdo and leave me alone. I mean, they won't be wrong.

Fortunately, Samson is able to divine a meaning through my game of charades. "Ah," the man says. "You… can't speak?"

I nod.

Aira sighs in what can only be relief. "Then he won't say nothin'," she murmurs, before covering her own mouth. "Ah, beg pardon! It's just that, if you can pretend you didn't see us here, we'd appreciate it-"

… She's not subtle at all. I'm guessing they're in a relationship, and they don't want people to know. Still, that's not my business.

Samson clears his throat loudly. "So, traveler!" he says, cutting Aira off and making discreet shushing motions. Despite being the apprentice of the pair, it looks like he has more common sense. "Those are some strange clothes you're wearing. I guess you're not from around here. You headed to Ylisse?"

I nod again.

"Figured," Samson says knowingly. "If you're going East, it's either Ylisse or one of those bandit… hide-outs…"

He trails off and I can feel the man appraise me again, cautiously this time. Aira murmurs something about "staff" to Samson, and he eventually relaxes when he realizes that I'm not going to suddenly jump them or anything.

"Right," he says awkwardly. "If you're going to Ylisse, you should probably go a league or two south first – don't want to run into those bandits."

I shake my head and reach behind my back. The man tenses when I pull out my bow, but I just gesture to it before putting it back.

"Oh," he says. "Guess you're not helpless, eh? Well, be careful, and safe travels."

I nod gratefully and make to continue on my journey.

"Wait," Aira says suddenly. "Would you like to come with us?"

Samson groans loudly and a risky glance shows me that he's running his fingers through his blond hair. "What're you planning now? For Naga's sake, Aira, he can't say nothin' about us, so you don't need to convince him-"

"It's not that," she answers hotly. "It's not safe travelling alone anymore. Our village isn't too far South from here. Come with us, and then follow the Squire's Road to Ylisse. It'll be slower, but much safer."

"Aira," Samson lowers his voice. I can't make out what he says next, but Aira's expression darkens for a moment.

"Hush, you," she answers. "My father wouldn't want me to be scared forever. And this way, my sister can't blackmail us about those times she caught us together! We'll say we were sneaking out to meet our friend here." She turns to face me. "We'll just need you to play along for a bit - we help you, and you help us! What do you think?"

Samson shakes his head again, but he's wearing an exasperated smile. "I think everyone _already_ knows about us, darling," he says, before facing me again. "But I guess she's made up her mind. How about it, stranger? You wanna come with?"

I find myself relaxing almost involuntarily, smiling underneath my hood. I'm not sure what their deal is, but it sounds like these two are living a rom-com. If I were human, I'd definitely go along with them. They seem like good people, if a little too trusting.

But right now, this is pushing the limit of how much I should interact with them. I point at myself, then at the path East.

"Fixed on goin' East?" Samson asks, sounding half-relieved and half-disappointed. "Be careful then, and watch for those bandits!"

I nod, and then make a choice.

" _…_ _Thank… you…_ " I say gruffly.

They both start at my voice, and Samson actually curses while taking a step back.

I don't react, and everyone's quiet for a bit. The silence becomes uncomfortable.

Then Aira giggles.

"So that's why you don't speak," she says. "It sounds pretty scary. Is that why you won't look at us, too? Because you look scary?"

"Aira!" Samson admonishes, looking at me warily.

Still giggling, the raven-haired woman takes Samson's hand. "You can't be as ugly as Samson here, stranger. But if you don't want us to peek, that's okay, too. Be safe!" she says.

We part ways without any further trouble, Samson muttering his goodbyes.

They seemed like pretty interesting people. I regret that I wasn't able to speak to them as a human, but I don't think it was worth risking a humanity over. Not when there are still bandits between me and Ylisse.

At least I was capable of interacting with regular people as a Risen, even if it was a one-way conversation. Now I know that humans don't have a built-in Risen detector or anything.

Though it turned out okay, upon reflection I really shouldn't have stopped to talk to them. I frown. Why did the woman sound so familiar? Oh well.

I continue travelling to Ylisse, resting soon after the sun falls and resuming before dawn. It's a rather uneventful day. Strolling along open ground with the sun high in the sky, I only stop when I notice a fort in the distance, complete with stone walls and a rusted wooden door.

Bandit hideout, or abandoned fort in the middle of nowhere? I don't get any closer, instead choosing to strafe around it.

I don't know anything about medieval defenses, but the placement of this fort seems a little unusual to me. I guess it has an open view of everything around it, but that's all. It doesn't take advantage of any hilly terrain or rivers or anything.

Well, I guess not all forts have to be super-strategically placed. This place seems out of the way now, but it might have been tactically relevant once upon a time.

… There's a genuine guillotine outside the fort, though fortunately it looks so rusted as to be useless. That's a little ominous, though I guess it increases the chances that this fort was used for military purposes.

Still, there don't appear to be any sentries atop the stone walls now. The only entrance seems to be that wooden door. There's a much larger opening elsewhere, presumably for horses and carts, but it looks comfortably blocked with rubble.

I stake out the place for a half-hour and don't spot a single sentry.

If there's no one here, it's fine because I want to explore the fort anyway. If it's a bandit hideout, the lack of sentries means there's either only a few bandits or they're very lax. Either way, I'm going in.

Mind made up, I make a straight dash to the fort, eyes scanning in all directions to watch for observers. I hug the walls as I close in, so that any late-coming sentries can't see me unless they poke their heads out over the stone walls.

It's not paranoia if every new location is a Fire Emblem chapter waiting to screw you over, after all.

I circle the fort, keeping close to the walls until I find the wooden door that acts as the only visible entrance to the fort. There's a rusted, circular iron handle. I glance back at the deserted plains around me one last time, then take a deep breath. I lift the handle slowly, wincing and slowing down even further when it creaks. Then I try to gently open the door.

It stops moving after about a foot. I can feel something blocking me on the other side. I could easily force it, but I choose to peek my head through, glancing inside.

My heart nearly stops and I barely catch myself from shoving the door closed when I catch sight of a familiar-looking bandit napping at a table near the entrance.

 **Gascon  
Barbarian**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 22/40

Str: 17  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 8  
Spd: 13  
Lck: 7  
Def: 5  
Res: 2

That's the last remaining bandit from the group that killed me! He's got some cloth wrapped around his chest and one of his arms – judging by his HP, he's injured. And he's asleep, with his silver axe on the ground beside him. There's some bread and drink at his table. I sincerely hope he's inebriated.

I came up with a few strategies to get stronger, but I didn't expect to have an opportunity to use them this quickly. It's like the world is testing my resolve. The world, or perhaps…

No, now's not the time to get distracted. Am I committing to this or not?

I glance around again. No one's approaching the fort, and I can hear Gascon snoring lightly. Can it really be this easy?

 _His three friends are dead, and there's been news of bandit groups breaking up so he's probably alone_ , Logic points out. _Chances of a trap are minimal – Gascon thinks you're dead, so it's not like he thinks anyone is after him for revenge. We're not getting a better opportunity than this! Go!_

Slowly, ever so slowly, I poke my head through the door completely and look at what's blocking it from opening. It's a bunch of junk piled haphazardly, and it looks unstable enough to collapse at any second. In fact, if I'd pushed the door a little more without checking, it would've done exactly that.

 _An alarm system_ , I realize belatedly. A very rough one, but it'd probably suffice for most cases. I slide my bow, arrows, and staff through the door into the fort, wanting to make myself as thin as possible. Then, sucking in my gut, I try to inch through.

 _Creak_.

I freeze as the door protests at some of my minute movements, eyes flashing to Gascon. He doesn't wake up.

 _Thank Naga_.

Almost… almost… I'm in! Straight ahead of me is an open courtyard, and on each side of me stairs lead up to the tops of the stone walls. I pick up my weapons again and sneak up the stairs.

I have him at a complete disadvantage, but it's not like I can do much to Gascon once he wakes up. He'll kill me in one blow with his axe. I ascend the stairs and peek around. No one's manning the walls. I use the high ground to peer down into the courtyard inside the fort. No one there, either. Looks like Gascon's actually commandeered this fort for himself. Now all I need to decide is whether I do this the Rambo way or the Solid Snake way.

I can't risk Rambo-ing and losing my weapons if I die. Solid Snake it is, with a side helping of moral dubiousness.

 _It's unusual_ , I reflect as I take off my belt. _Fold one side and feed it through the belt buckle, just so_. Despite all of my intelligence, my plan relies on a trick that I picked up by complete chance on Earth. That's the value of life experience – you never know when the most obscure things will come in handy.

I guess that's one of the hidden advantages of being an SI.

I take my second belt, the one wrapped around my thigh, and set it up as another set of emergency handcuffs before stuffing it in my pocket. I take a few valuable minutes to re-attach Roll's arrow pouch to the belt loops on my jeans, using a few strips of denim.

Then I descend the stairs, finding myself crouching instinctively out of a desire to be quiet. Gascon's still asleep at his table, blissfully ignorant of my intentions. I leave my weapons and primary belt behind, needing my hands free to make sure that I can silently steal his axe from his side.

All-or-nothing. I hold my breath as I approach him, and then continue holding it when I remember that I don't need to breathe. His axe is just sitting there by his feet. My eyes flicker between it and his face.

His breathing becomes a little less even and I just go for it, grabbing his axe with a burst of adrenaline as silently as I can. If I stay near him, he'll smell me and wake up for sure.

"Ma, toes…" he mumbles.

Relief fills me when he doesn't react further. I slip away into the courtyard. It's largely dirt and rubble. I hide Gascon's axe under a pile of rocks and then go back to retrieve my weapons.

Phase one, complete. Initiate phase two.

I'd originally planned to bind his legs together with my belt, but they're too far apart and I don't think I can do it without waking him. I switch my target to his left leg. It's close to the leg of the table he's sleeping at, and the table itself looks very sturdy. I have to undo my belt and set it up again _around_ Gascon's leg and the table, since I can't lift either to fit them into my trap. I don't tighten it yet. Binding a leg is a bonus, but it's not my primary goal.

If I'm going to risk waking him, I'll do so aiming for his arms. I know for a fact that breaking out of a proper belt-cuff around the wrists is really hard, regardless of strength. The worst he'll be able to do is run or body-check me. If I bind just one leg, though, he'll eventually figure out how to undo it with his hands. Even if he's unarmed, I don't want him fully mobile at any point.

It's almost pathetic how much preparation I need to take on an unarmed, probably drunk, sleeping bandit who's already half-dead.

But I've died once before to carelessness, when I stupidly attacked Rayne without trying to calculate damage rates. I've got to try to learn from my mistakes.

I can hardly imagine what this scene would look like to an outsider – an Undead abomination nervously crouching near an injured, sleeping bandit with a looped belt in its hands. I adjust its size, and then nearly curse as Gascon sniffs.

I place the belt around one wrist, then gently try to guide it to his other hand.

His eyes open and settle on me. I can see the confusion on his face

"Eh, whazzat? Ma?" he says blearily.

I'm prepared for this, so I don't suddenly speed up, calmly slipping his second wrist through the belt. That extra second makes all the difference. I can pinpoint the second his confusion turns to horror when he sees my face, and then I hurry up, pulling on one end of the belt harshly and securing his hands.

"What the – demon!" Gascon cries out, stumbling out of his chair and trying to shove me away from him. "Demon! Gods, _help!_ "

I try to secure his foot to the table, but he flails and I'm rewarded for my trouble with a kick to the face. I let out an instinctive growl at the pain but abandon my efforts, running back a few steps to pick up my bow.

The bandit grasps on the ground blindly for his axe, glassy eyes still transfixed on me, but it's nowhere to be found. He wouldn't be able to do anything with his hands bound anyway.

 _He's panicking_ , I realize.

 _Obviously_ , Logic answers. _You're much scarier as a Risen than a human._

I'm not the best at making clutch decisions, but I've planned this out in advance so I don't hesitate.

 _Attack. Gascon._

Dying hasn't compromised my ability to automatically attack designated targets. My decaying fingers pull out an arrow from my pouch, put it to string and smoothly loose. I'm relieved when it takes Gascon in the chest. He cries out in pain, and I see him hit his head on the wall as he flinches.

 **Gascon  
Barbarian**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 17/40

This is the point I was worried about – I'm not sure what he'll do while I try to whittle down his HP. I've gotten rid of most of his options, but still. As soon as I regain control of my body, I close my eyes again.

 _Attack. Gascon._

I tense as awareness returns and roll immediately, expecting an incoming body-check or some kind of desperate retaliation. But no attack comes. I open my eyes and see that Gascon's still on the ground, having taken two arrows, struggling to free his wrists. He's saying something but I can barely understand him.

 **Gascon  
Barbarian**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 12/40

 _He's stunned and he's wasting his turns, keep going!_ Logic urges. _Don't hesitate!_

Some part of me wants to stop and evaluate the situation a bit more, but I've been through too much shit recently to pay it any mind. If he's not going to dodge, then it makes it that much easier for me.

 _Attack. Gascon._

 **Gascon  
Barbarian**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 7/40

The bandit says something again but I'm a little busy thinking.

 _One more!_ Logic is saying. _Once he's at 2 HP he'll be too weak to even_ think _about fighting back!_

It's true enough, I suppose. Though Rayne killed me when he had 1 HP, so I should keep being careful.

 _Attack. Gascon._

The fourth arrow takes him in the shoulder and now I'm suspicious, because he still hasn't made any attempt to dodge. I think there's something wrong with that. Shouldn't he be fighting desperately to stay alive? Where's the adrenaline rush that I was expecting?

 _So long as he's not attacking us or escaping, it doesn't really matter what he's doing,_ Logic says. _Now's a great time to finish binding him. Go!_

I approach the fallen bandit carefully and grab the second belt that was placed around a table leg. It looks like my pre-emptive attacks have taken the fight out of him, and he only puts up a token resistance as I secure his leg to the table. To be safe, I use up my remaining denim to secure him further.

That went a lot smoother than I'd expected. I re-secure his wrists and then examine him again, now that it's safe.

The cloths covering Gascon's wounds have fallen off, and there's a foul odour coming from him. Not that I'm one to point fingers, since I literally smell like death.

"Ma, help me," Gascon says weakly, looking straight at me. "The pony wants to eat my toes, ma. Please help…"

What the hell…? Despite myself, I lay a hand on his head, ignoring his flinching. He's burning hot. I can't tell whether or not he's fevered, though; my perception of temperature seems to be way off.

Oh, right. Risen. Of course a human will feel hot to an Undead.

"Don't let 'em eat my toes, ma," he pleads again.

He's delirious. I take a closer look at his wounds and wince.

 _Infection_ , Logic deduces. _Open wounds led to bacteremia which led to delirium. He's screwed._

I'm feeling vaguely uneasy, and I can't place the feeling better than that. Wasn't there an inner voice I labelled to help me with this kind of stuff? Something other than Logic? What was it again?

 _Relax. It's just pre-programmed discomfort from cultural evolution,_ Logic says dismissively. _Altruism for the sake of the tribe when someone's hurt helps everyone's survival, long-term, but it's not relevant to us_ now _. Moving on, this is a good time to see how staves interact with infection._

 _Right_. I dismiss my unease reluctantly.

Staves can handle physical wounds in seconds, when it should take days or weeks. I'll admit I'm curious to see how they handle infections. Can staves recognize that bacteria shouldn't be in the blood? Will it kill them off, or help them multiply? Can it differentiate between human cells and bacteria? What about benign gut flora vs. pathogenic bacteria?

 _Staff – Mend._

I realized something back on the Raven. I was able to heal the crew even though, at that time, I considered them enemies. The implications got me thinking.

 **Gascon  
Barbarian**

LV: 10. EX: -.  
HP: 17/40

 **Ess'ai  
Outrealmer**

LV: 6. EX: 85.  
HP: 21/21.

I got 21 EXP from mend just now, and I was at 21 EXP before… so the remainder is 43 EXP from four attacks with my bow. That doesn't add up.

Oh, unless the lunatic anti-grind feature is in effect. I got 11 EXP from the first three attacks, and then 10 EXP from the fourth. Damn shame.

I crouch over Gascon and watch as some of his wounds close before my eyes. More importantly, it only takes a few minutes before some lucidity returns to his eyes. Staves can work miracles, then. It would've taken at least a day of IV antibiotics to get the same effect on Earth.

The bandit coughs harshly, trying to clutch his chest with his bound hands. The wounds from my arrows aren't closing properly, and that must hurt a lot. He looks up at me, and I can see fear mixed with resignation.

"What are ya?" he asks. "Are… are ya here to take me to hell?"

I don't answer. He glances at my staff.

"Ya healed me, though," he says uncertainly. "Is… o-oh Naga, it can't be. Is this a second chance you're giving me?"

The hopeful look in Gascon's eyes dies out as I grip my bow tighter.

" _…_ _I… sorry…_ "

 _Attack. Gascon._

 _Attack. Gascon._

 ** _Level Up!_**

 _Attack. Gascon._

 _Staff – Mend._

 _Attack. Gascon…_

* * *

 **Ess'ai  
Outrealmer**

LV: 8. EX: 16.  
HP: 22/22.

Str: 6  
Mag: 0  
Skill: 3  
Spd: 9  
Lck: 8  
Def: 12  
Res: 11

Bow Rank: D (15/20)  
Staff Rank: C (1/25)

I've got twenty-five bow uses and six Mend uses in the tank. _Not bad_ , I think as I try pulling some of my arrows from Gascon's cooling body. _But I've got a ways to go, yet._

The opponents that the Shepherds are going to face are going to be way tougher than these run-of-the-mill bandits. If I want to help, if I want to be more than dead-weight…

 _I need to become even stronger._

* * *

 **A/N: And here we see the logical extreme of what happens when you're able to heal everyone, including enemies, in an EXP-based system.**

 **I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, but I decided to just get it out and move forward instead of re-working it.** **I think I've set up enough groundwork that I'm comfortable with time-skipping a bit. Unless you guys _like_ these level-by-level encounters of how Ess'ai gets stronger? Let me know your preferences on time-skipping vs. maintaining the same pace, and if there's a consensus I'll roll with it.**

 **Fun-fact #1: Gascon rolled decently, but he only had a 25% chance of surviving the chapter and obviously didn't make it. RIP, NPC bandit.**

 **Fun-fact #2: The protagonist's total SKL growth is 60% after class bonuses. This is therefore** ** _not_** **the stat I expected him to get RNG-screwed on.**


End file.
